


Midnight doesn't last forever

by we_are_the_same



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, M/M, sexgod!Zayn, warnings for past dub-con, warnings for past non-con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-28
Updated: 2013-05-26
Packaged: 2017-11-22 18:25:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 28,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/612846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/we_are_the_same/pseuds/we_are_the_same
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Liam wakes up to find a naked boy in his apartment.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Prompted to me by someone on LJ. Will credit once I find out if she wants to be named or not :3
> 
> the prompt is long but I won't repeat it here since it's basically spoilers for the whole story.

It's not Liam's fault that he wakes up feeling utterly confused.

For one, he had about five more drinks than he usually needs to be properly smashed, three more than he usually ends up regretting when he inevitably wakes up with a mariachi band playing somewhere in between his hypothalamus and his primary visual cortex, and his mouth tasting like he made out with the floor at one point (and enough drinks that he can't be quite sure that he _didn't_ ).

What adds to the confusion is, well - there's a naked boy in front of him, and Liam's _quite_ sure he didn't leave any naked (gorgeous, holy shit) boys lying around when he left the house. He's also pretty certain that he didn't stumble into his apartment to find one already awaiting his return, because he would've known better than to pass right the fuck out in his bed if there had been a creature as lovely as this one in his apartment.

He croaks out something that he hopes gives sound to his confusion, but the hazel eyes that have yet to swim into complete focus (and that's not because he's so close, but because Liam can't figure out if there's just one boy or if he's still dreaming and he's about to have the threesome of his life) are infuriatingly blank.

“Whuh?” He tries again, pushes himself up, and in response the other arches up an eyebrow. He seems expectant, and Liam desperately searches for clues on his olive skin, finds himself distracted by muscles that shift just underneath. “Um,” he pushes his fringe from his eyes, blinks at him once more for good measure. “why are you here?”

Because as much part of him believes this is a dream, it's a very _vivid_ dream, and usually Liam's dreams involve superheroes or figurines from Toy Story come to life. Not that he doesn't _ever_ dream about naked boys, but they're usually not _staring_ at him, and he normally doesn't wake up until his boxers are all sticky.

(Louis tells him he needs to get laid, and Liam agrees, but he's not that kind of guy that can go to a club and chat up a cute boy, and his dance moves aren't exactly impressive enough to function as some kind of mating ritual.)

 

So, this is probably not a dream. Which means that there's _really_ a naked boy in his apartment. And that, possibly, Liam should be afraid.

He doubts this boy would've woken him up if he was going to kill him, and if he'd wanted to steal something he would have better luck of getting away unnoticed if he was _dressed_ , so although he has to concede that this is most likely not a figment of his imagination, his brain refuses to piece the clues together into something that makes sense.

“You called me,” the boy says, and his accent is unfamiliar, but it's the cold way in which he says it that captures Liam's attention.

“I – _what_?” He asks, and the boy is back to staring at him with that blank look, though they both know that his accusing tone belies the lack of emotion etched onto his handsome face. “No, seriously. _What_?” Liam repeats, because he's ninety-nine point nine percent sure that he doesn't have this guy's number, and even if he did, why would he show up if he didn't want to be here?

“Wait.” He says, brown eyes flickering to his phone, on his night stand. “Did Lou put you up to this?” Had he stolen his phone while Liam was distracted by his sixth-maybe-fifteenth shot? Called up this - “Are you a.. a-” Liam blushes to the roots of his hair, gesturing towards the lean body still sat on the edge of his bed. “A prostitute?” It comes out in a whisper, like saying it out loud is a disgrace he might never recover from.

The boy cocks his head as though he's considering this, but doesn't answer, and Liam groans in frustration. “I'm going to _kill_ him,” he swears, pushes the blankets away before realizing that he's naked, covering up again with an aborted noise. “I'm really sorry, I'm not – this isn't really my _thing_ , you know. You're very pretty, but-” He flails his hands, tries to convey how sorry he is for this boy showing up here in the middle of the night, while thoughts of ways to kill Louis bubble up in his brain.

 

Liam's genuinely sorry that this kid – man – has wasted his time by coming here, when he could've been earning money, and he finds himself trying to reach for his wallet without flashing any skin. “How much?” He asks, thumbing through the bills, praying that he'll have enough to cover his fee, because he's not looking forward to going out on the street at this time of morning, to find an ATM. He's still not _fully_ convinced that this isn't all some far-fetched plan to rob him, after all.

He looks at the naked man - and really, where _are_ his clothes? Liam's pretty sure he didn't just arrive at his building in his birthday suit, and how did he get in here, anyway? Did Louis give him a key? Because wow, that is just the shittiest idea ever, and Liam _needs_ to find a new best friend if that is the case. Louis is a great guy but he can be so _stupid_.

The naked man looks back, hazel eyes still unreadable, and Liam finds himself repeating the words, slower this time. “How much?”

“I'm yours,” the other says, mimicking his slow tone, like he's thinking Liam is a bit simple.

“Well, yes-” Liam stutters, finally withdrawing what he hopes is a decent amount of money, because it'd be _so_ like him to accidentally insult a prostitute by offering him what is far below his usual rate. “that is, er, lovely, but, I'm not – I'm not _interested_ , is the thing.”

This time the look the other gives him is skeptical at best, and Liam bristles a little, because hello, he's trying to be decent here, and he doesn't appreciate being called a liar, and also, he'd quite like to go back to sleep now, so if this boy could please take his money and _go_.

He gives him a pointed look as he offers him the bills, tries not to stare at the door too much, but the other makes no move of taking his money. “Is this too little?” Liam asks, after waving the money in his face doesn't get much of a reaction, and where did Louis _find_ this guy? He must be excellent in the sack, because he's not much of a talker, and Liam prays that he's not really _that_ simple, because he's sure that that's all kinds of wrong, not to mention _illegal_. “How long are you, er, supposed to stay?”

The boy seems almost relieved at this question, like it's finally something he knows how to answer. Though when he says “A week,” in that same slightly aloof tone, Liam splutters in protest.

 

“Excuse me?” He gets out of the bed this time, hastily pulling on some boxers, because he needs to have a serious conversation with Louis, and if he needs to flash his ass and sacrifice some of his dignity in order to get this prostitute out of his apartment and onto Louis' doorstep, then that's something he'll have to live with. “Going to _kill_ him,” he mutters again, pulling on a shirt and jeans in jerky motions, rifling through his clean laundry to throw a shirt and jeans at the bed, though the other makes no move to pull them on. “Get dressed.” Liam instructs, and the youth blinks.

“What?” He echoes, and he sounds as confused as Liam feels.

Liam sighs, pushes a hand through his fringe. “I'm sorry,” he says, gentler now, despite the frustration and the hangover he's nursing. “This is a bad idea. I don't know _what_ he was thinking, but I can't – even if I _wanted_ to, I can't _afford_ paying you, for a week.”

And what would he do with a prostitute for a week? Besides the obvious, that is. Liam's got school, what is he supposed to do, just let him stay at his apartment while he's in class?

“Come on,” he urges softly, offers him the clothes again. “Get dressed, and I'll bring you home. I'm really sorry to waste your time-”

The boy shakes his head, sounding almost sad. “I can't go home.”

“You-”

“I don't have a home.” He sounds less sad now, almost angry, though he draws in on himself too, like his anger isn't fully directed at Liam.

And that's – that's shitty. This kid can't be older than Liam is, and being a prostitute is bad enough, but a _homeless_ prostitute?

“Oh,” he says, sound too loud in the quiet of the room, and the boy just nods. “Oh,” Liam repeats, then frowns. “Then – where are you going, in a week?”

He watches him shrug a strong shoulder, eyes not exactly meeting his as he glances up. “Away,” he explains, and it's not an explanation at all, but Liam finds himself nodding anyway. “I don't remember.” He continues, and Liam's enraptured by the way he fingers the spine of an unfamiliar old book, almost caresses it, though the way he slams his hand on the cover betrays anger, too. “I just go back. In here.”

In – _here_?

“Until I'm called.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for Ashtarok's prompt on LJ

“What do you _mean_ you go in _there_? You – that's _mental!_ ” Liam's voice trails off at the last word, eyes widening. “Oh.” It sounds softer, the way he glances at the boy careful, all of a sudden. Maybe Louis didn't send him after all. Maybe- “Er,” he continues, pocketing his money again, since _he_ feels like the mental one, waving it around when it's obviously not appreciated. And really, who wouldn't appreciate money?

It explains the absence of clothes, too, though Liam's still wondering how he managed to find his way into his apartment. Even while drunk, Liam's fairly conscientious, and hasn't once forgotten to lock his front door.

This is _so_ not like him. And then, it _is_ , because _of course_ Liam would wake up to find a crazy, naked, homeless person in his apartment and feel anything other than fear and anger. “Right,” he finds himself saying, thumbs hooking in his jeans pockets to give himself something to do, or at least an _air_ of someone who knows what to do. To be honest, he's kind of clueless, but telling him to get lost feels as irresponsible as letting him stay is. “Er, what's your name?”

It's as good a start as any, and the youth seems relieved, hazel eyes not having left Liam's face since he slammed his hand onto the book that he's since gone back to cradling to his chest. “Zayn,” he says, and Liam nods because it gives him something to do.

“Right. Zayn.” The name rings a bell, but he can't place the memory, though he's sure he's heard it before. Not in Zayn's voice, in that unfamiliar accent, maybe said by someone he actually knows – but he can't grasp more than the fleeting whisper, the nagging feeling that there's something he _should_ remember.

 

“You don't remember, do you?” Zayn asks, and Liam is torn between nodding and scowling, never liking it when someone calls him out on lack of knowledge, though he'd feel ridiculous trying to cover up how he's absolutely gobsmacked. 

“Er, remember what, exactly?” He tries, but Zayn isn't fooled by his tone. Liam watches him uncurl from the bed, abruptly stops watching when Zayn doesn't cover up and moves towards him instead, that book still hugged to his chest.

“This,” he says, tapping the front, holding it up for Liam, like he'll magically remember everything because of the volume's mere presence, inches from his face.

“I've never seen that book before,” Liam says, but he's not so sure now, caught off guard by Zayn's persistence, and he really _doesn't_ look like a crazy person, even if he's naked in Liam's bedroom, waving around an old book like it's got the answers to all their questions.

“You sure?” Zayn asks, and he sounds so sceptical and condescending that Liam grabs the book and flips through the pages, barely sparing the faded letters more than a cursory glance, before he thrusts it back at Zayn.

“Yep.” He says, confident and almost angry now, but his brain suddenly seems to catch up, and he finds himself taking the book back. “Wait.”

 

He's never seen the book before, yet it looks familiar. 

Like something from a distant past. A hazy memory.

Zayn lets him take the book, and Liam's slower now, thumbing through the pages, brown eyes widening when they land on a page that he _does_ recognize. His mouth slowly forms a silent “Oh” as he reads through the stylishly lettered text, remembers Louis slamming this down onto the table in the pub, laughing that he's found the answer to Liam's problems.

Louis always thinks that _all_ of Liam's problems stem from not getting laid, and in this case, it's true. Because if he _had_ been getting laid, he wouldn't need -

“You're – this – I,” he stutters, glancing up from the page, Zayn's hazel eyes seeming amused more than anything. “You're a _Sex God_?”

 

Something flickers in those eyes, but then Zayn is drawing himself up to his full height, arms slightly behind him, chest puffed out, as though he's offering himself up, is daring Liam to look and declare him unsatisfactory. One eyebrow is drawn up in what Liam can only describe as arrogance, but it doesn't match the slight twitch of his mouth. “That's me,” he says, and it sounds like he's trying too hard, like his confidence isn't wholly genuine.

“Oh God,” Liam groans, drops his head in his hands, the book falling to the floor with a loud thunk.

“Just _Zayn_ is fine,” the other replies, and Liam finds himself smiling despite the sheer absurdity of the situation. He doesn't miss how Zayn bends down to pick up the book, brushes fingers over the spine as though he's checking its condition, and Liam's suddenly hit with the realization that that's Zayn's _home_.

He barks out a laugh at the thought, then rubs at his face when Zayn gives him an odd look before carefully putting the publication aside. “So,” he says, utterly lost again, tempted to just stand here, face in his hands, until this goes away or he wakes up, but his carpet feels real under his toes, and a slight kick to the edge of the bed sparks a bright pain in his heel, so, despite this not making _any_ sense at all, Liam's awake.

And there's a Sex God in his bedroom.

 

One who was summoned because Liam's best friend decided that he needed to get laid. 

“So,” Zayn echoes, and Liam shakes his head.

“This was meant to be a joke.” He winces as he says it, but Zayn doesn't really react, just goes back to touching the book like he's tethered to it somehow, and Liam wonders what it must be like, knowing that he's going to disappear in a week. Knowing that he's literally _bound_ to the pages until someone calls him, and when they do-

“Zayn, I'm so sorry.”

This takes the other male by surprise, his confidence suddenly vanishing, leaving him just a naked, confused youth, and Liam can't help but want to make this _better_ , somehow. He still can't wrap his brain around it, but if all of this is true, then Zayn's only called for sex, and after spending a week with someone, he goes back in that book and-

The thought just _hurts_ , and Liam feels like an asshole for calling on him, for thinking that this is a _laugh_ when it's anything but.

“Let me,” he starts, stops when Zayn nods and steps closer, suddenly all grace and sensuality, and Liam backs up and nearly trips over his discarded jeans. “Whoa! No.” He shakes his head, puts his hands on the other's shoulders, all careful, trying not to notice the warm, smooth skin underneath his fingertips. “Let me take care of you.” He pleads, and Zayn shrugs.

“Not how it usually goes, but okay.” Liam breathes out a sigh of relief until Zayn crawls onto the bed, spreads himself out, naked and wanton and oh, Liam needs a moment before he can tear his eyes away.

“Clothes,” he finds himself saying. “I meant clothes. And food. And maybe, maybe a shower, yeah?”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wanted to give you guys another update before New Year's! Have a good start to 2013 everyone! ♥

Zayn pushes himself up on his elbows, and Liam is in that awkward position where it seems like, no matter where he looks, there's always a part of him directly in his line of vision. He ends up staring at his feet for a good minute or so, but by the time he looks up, Zayn still hasn't moved, is still regarding him with those dark eyes.

_Beautiful eyes_ , Liam's mind whispers, and he firmly tells it to shut up. “Zayn,” he tries, though he never finishes his sentence, just ends up shaking his head, letting out a long-drawn sigh.

The room is quiet enough that Liam can hear his radiator tick, can hear that at least someone in their apartment building is getting it on, and he wonders, not for the first time, what he expected to happen from the spell.

Truth be told, he figured it was just a laugh. Try a spell, have Lou call him in the morning, only to find out Liam was still celibate, and then they'd go out for breakfast and that was that. He didn't ever expect _this_ , because this is the real world. Spells shouldn't work. He's no Harry Potter, there aren't supposed to be genies in bottles or Sex Gods in books.

(Lou had teased him, before going home, that even if the spell _did_ work, he was sure Liam would be too nice to take advantage of the situation. Liam kind of likes that he didn't sound disappointed in him when he said it.)

 

“You're really not going to, are you?” Zayn asks, and Liam finds himself looking at him again. At the way he's spread out on the bed, soft skin and long eyelashes, so _tempting_. 

“No,” Liam shakes his head, shoves his hands in his pockets as though that'll make his words sound more convincing. He keeps glancing away and back again, unable to ignore him ( _manners_ , Liam, _you look at someone when you talk to them_ ), yet equally unable to hold his gaze when he's so unashamedly _naked_.

“Why not?” Zayn asks, and he pushes himself up now, sitting on the edge of Liam's bed, and Liam takes a step back for good measure. It draws a chuckle from those full lips, the boy shrugging a shoulder as though he's already dismissing any reason Liam could possibly come up with. “You want to.”

“I-” Liam starts, flushes scarlet, words coming out stuttered when he _so_ wants them to sound final. “That doesn't matter.”

“See?” Zayn says, and he's standing now, and Liam knows that he needs to get to the other side of the bed before Zayn moves closer, needs to keep some distance before he starts thinking about how _soft_ Zayn's skin is. “You want to fuck me.” He slides a hand down his chest, fingers brushing over pebbled nipples, down his abdomen, and Liam lets out a strangled sound, shuddering as he looks away just before Zayn's fingers come into contact with the small patch of hair leading-

“That- it – _Zayn_.” He tries, flustered, unsure of what to do when Zayn keeps getting _closer_. It'd be a lot easier to think, Liam reckons, if he covered up a little. He makes a grab for his comforter then, takes Zayn by surprise when he moves forward instead of back, wraps the blanket around him – his own arms too, just in case he refuses to cover himself up without Liam's help. “Stop that.” He admonishes, grip tight around him. “You can't just-”

“Why not?” Zayn repeats, and Liam finds himself looking down at him, hazel eyes lighter from up close, little flecks interspersed with the warm brown, and oh, Zayn's smaller than him, how did he not notice that?

“Because-” He swallows, the words in his head seeming so childish now, not powerful enough to convince him when Zayn's right, part of him _does_ want to.

“It's what I'm here for,” Zayn counters, and his voice sounds softer now. He's stopped pushing at him, trying to get loose, presumably to drop the blanket to the floor, and Liam's not sure if he should be glad or upset. He wants Zayn to stop trying to sleep with him, but he also doesn't want him to do things because he thinks Liam wants him to do those things.

 

“ _That_.” He says, nodding towards Zayn. “Because of that. Because it's not, it shouldn't be-”

“But it _is._ ” Zayn argues, eyes flashing with something Liam is too slow to process, before the other's look is back to that blank state again. He fights him now, struggles to get loose, and Liam's torn between holding him close and letting him go.

“Zayn,” he tries, voice gentle, but Zayn scoffs, shoves at him until Liam stumbles back and Zayn's backed away from him, blanket at his feet.

“Don't,” he warns, foot reaching up to kick at the blanket until the baby blue material lands near Liam's feet instead. “Don't give me pity.”

Liam bites his lip, holds back on the 'why' that threatens to slip out. “You think that offering you clothes and food, a chance to bathe, is pity?” Zayn doesn't reply, just watches him, arms crossed protectively in front of his chest. Liam's heart aches at the confirmation that never makes it past his lips. “It's kindness, Zayn. People do that occasionally... act like a decent human being.”

“Not the kind of people that summon a Sex God.” Zayn shoots back, and Liam really wishes he hadn't said that. He doesn't want to think of the kind of people that would call for him, doesn't want to acknowledge that maybe not all of them were doing this as a laugh, or a last resort. He doesn't want to wonder just how _long_ -

“Why won't you let me try and prove you wrong?” He asks instead, eyes on the other male as he crouches down, picks up the blanket, Zayn's small movement making him sigh as he makes a show of folding it up, rather than forcing it around him again.

This time Zayn is the one forcing out a hesitant “Because-”, furrowed brows and all, and Liam waits, but he just ends up with another shrug in answer. Zayn looks annoyed at not having an immediate answer, frustrated at the fact that Liam won't just give in and do what he's here for, but other than a huffed out breath, he doesn't voice protest when Liam leads the way to the bathroom, flicks on the light as he gestures for him to follow.

Liam knows better than to take this as anything more than a temporary cease-fire, but he can't help smiling a little, regardless. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy 2013 everyone!

Liam's so used to his apartment (small as it may be, it offers everything he needs in terms of luxury) that he barely gives his surroundings a second thought until Zayn comes to a halt, staring at the radio that Liam unthinkingly switched on.

“What's that?” He asks, and Liam follows his gaze to the tiny black box, some over-played top forty song sounding tinny through its little speakers. He doesn't often listen to the radio, preferring his own music, but this one's specifically designed for bathroom use, and, though Liam won't admit to it, he's belted along to more than one cheesy song, using his shampoo bottle as a mic.

“Don't worry,” he assures Zayn, “it's totally safe.”

The song ends on a wail, and then there's some DJ talking, and Zayn's eyes grow comically large.

“There is a minstrel locked up in this box,” he almost gasps out, voice sounding horrified, and Liam bites back a laugh, picks up the wireless radio, offering it to Zayn to inspect.

Zayn steps back though, and Liam realizes that this isn't _at all_ funny to him. “Zayn,” he starts, the radio still in his hands, though he puts it back on the towel cabinet, thinks of switching it off, but leaves it for now. “There's no one locked up in there.” Zayn doesn't look all that convinced, and Liam racks his brain, trying to come up with something that'll stop the impending freak-out he can see in the other's eyes. “It's, um, you know how you can remember a song, or a story, after it's been told?”

He watches Zayn frown, wonders how long it's been since he lived a life that wasn't about sex, wonders if he ever did or if Zayn's been called into being as a Sex God, never experiencing anything other than this. “Yes?” Zayn offers, albeit questioningly, and Liam hopes that that means he's been happy once, even if that would just make the current situation worse.

“This is kind of like that,” Liam finds himself explaining, but the look on Zayn's face is enough to clue him in to how he really doesn't see how this is _anything_ like that, and Liam can't blame him, he's not sure he understands himself. “Wait here,” he says, when an idea suddenly comes to mind, and a few minutes later he's back inside the small bathroom, his phone in hand. “Say something,” he urges, after pressing a few buttons, and Zayn, albeit confused, complies.

“Um,” he says, eyes not leaving the device in Liam's hand, “er.”

Liam's about to switch off the recording function on his phone when Zayn suddenly almost laughs. “Something.” He says, and Zayn's not the only one smiling then.

“Okay,” Liam breathes out, beckons Zayn closer, angling the phone's screen so he can see what's happening, though he doubts any of the buttons on the touch screen make sense. He presses them nonetheless, reaches out to lightly brush his fingertips over Zayn's shoulder when he jumps at hearing his own voice. _“Um. Er. Something.”_

“How did you _do_ that?” Zayn demands, trembling under Liam's touch, and he sounds shocked, maybe even more scared than before. “Are you a sorcerer?”

He tries backing away, and Liam holds up his hands, jamming the phone back into his pocket. “Zayn, no, I promise, I'm not – that's not magic.” He's frustrated with his own inability to explain, wonders why Zayn didn't freak out about the light switch or the heating – but maybe those things, he's gotten used to. He's bound to have experienced _some_ things about the modern world, even if those experiences were limited to the bedroom. “I'm not going to hurt you,” Liam continues, tone softer now, like he's trying to soothe a frightened animal, and honestly, Zayn's eyes kind of remind him of one.

“You – you put me in that _thing_.”

“No!” Liam shakes his head, drops his hands when he realizes reaching for Zayn might just make him feel even more ill at ease. “Just, your voice, it's just a copy, Zayn. It's not, you're not really in there.”

(He briefly considers taking a photo of him to further convince him, but if Zayn's freaking out this much about a voice recording, he doesn't think showing him a picture of himself, locked in Liam's phone, is going to make things better.)

“Please,” he continues, mindful of the distance between them as he moves to switch off the radio. “I won't hurt you, Zayn. I won't lock you up, anywhere.” He tries to meet his eyes, wishes that Zayn could see into his brain, understand the things Liam's never questioned. “I wouldn't know how to, first of all, but – you can trust me, Zayn. I promise.”

“I don't,” Zayn interrupts, voice dismissive, but the look in his eyes seems wary to Liam, as though he's not sure of the response it'll cause.

“I know,” he replies, fringe brushed from his forehead simply because it gives him something to do, something that doesn't seem intimidatory. “I understand, and I respect that, and there are probably a lot of things that I do that can seem threatening, or strange, or harmful, but I swear to you, I will never try and hurt you, or lock you up, or take advantage of you.”

“Says the man who summoned a Sex God.”

Liam makes a face, counters Zayn's argument with one of his own. “Says the man who summoned a Sex God, only to refuse to take advantage of said Sex God. And who refused to believe that said Sex God was actually really there, called because of a spell that this man didn't believe would work.” He brushes his fringe away again, opts for a small smile. “Honestly, if I was really a sorcerer, wouldn't you think I'd be less surprised at the whole concept of magic?”

Zayn shrugs a shoulder, holds his tongue until Liam's sure he's going to drop the subject. He's almost relieved when he hears him speak up – because there's something about his silence that's worse than his distrust, that makes Liam uncomfortable and scared, something he can't argue with logic or counter with good behaviour. “Sorcerers are deceitful by nature.”

“I guess I'll just have to show you that I'm true to my word then.”

 

Zayn finally makes it into the shower, after Liam tells him how the tap works. He seems delighted with the hot water, that doesn't require any fires, keeps tinkering with the temperature as he murmurs the occasional _wonderful_ or _impossible_ under his breath. Liam points at the shampoo, explains about the difference between the products for your hair and the soaps, ends up sighing and telling him “Just use the purple bottle for your hair and the blue one for your body” when Zayn insists that it's pointless to have different products that end up doing the same thing. He considers showing him Louis' assortment of hair and body cleaning products, conjures up a mental image of Louis' affronted face if he were the one having this discussion. It makes him smile as he informs him where the towels are, that he'll wait for him in the bedroom, _take your time, call me if there's something you need_.

He takes Zayn's murmured _inconceivable_ as an answer, even if Zayn is still admiring the faucet.

 

“I like your shower,” Zayn says as he appears in the doorway, and Liam smiles, nods. Good, he wants to say, but the way the towel is slung around Zayn's waist doesn't leave a whole lot up to the imagination, and there's drops trickling down his waist, making him want to ask if Zayn has anything against towels, because he could've probably done a better job at drying off and not making Liam look like a creep.

So he just nods again, enthusiastically, pushes himself up from the bed he'd been lounging on, offering Zayn the clothes he picked out earlier. It's still dark outside, and Liam figured they could probably do with some sleep, so he opted for some boxers, a faded old tee that's too small on him now, and some dark green sleep pants. “Here,” he offers when he's reasonably sure his voice sounds normal again, even if his cheeks are still slightly pink.

Zayn stares at the clothes for a moment, before accepting them, a small twitch of his body making it look like he was trying to make up his mind about something. Liam doesn't really have to ask what it was, though he breathes out a sigh of relief when Zayn doesn't try to argue with him again. He turns away, pointedly, giving Zayn the privacy he deems is only polite, hopes that it makes up for the creepy stares earlier.

He turns back when Zayn clears his throat, finds himself smiling at the sight of Zayn in his clothes, tee large enough that it's nearly slipping off one shoulder, sleep pants and damp hair making him look so young.

So innocent.

Zayn half returns his smile, wrings his wrists together as his eyes shift from Liam to the bed, and back.

“Er,” he starts, and Liam bites his lip.

“I'm sorry.” He hurries to say, gesturing towards the double bed. “I don't have a couch or anything, and there's not really any room to sleep on the floor, or I'd offer to sleep there, but we can share the bed, if you want, and I can get you separate blankets and everything.”

He doesn't often have guests over, as Louis' apartment is larger than his, and if he does spend the night here, he's all over Liam in his sleep, face pressed against his neck and arms wrapped around his waist, knee tucked in between his thighs. It's comfortable, comforting, even when they wake up presented with morning wood, because they've been friends for such a long time that not even inappropriate boners are a deal breaker in their relationship.

Zayn just nods, silent.

“I'm sorry,” Liam offers again.

“I know.” He doesn't sound as though he fully believes it though, and the little shrug only confirms that. “I wouldn't stop you, if you did decide to do more than sleep next to me.”

Liam nods. “I know,” he echoes, doesn't bother voicing the _I won't_ that he knows Zayn will only brush off with another _I know_.

They get into bed then, and Liam keeps to his side of the mattress, adamant on making Zayn feel comfortable, even at the expense of his own comfort.

(This is why he doesn't do one night stands. The hesitance, the awkward shifting around so they're not touching, the _do I turn my back towards him or risk looking like a creeper_. It's not something Liam's ever been good at. It's something he hopes he'll never have to learn.)

“Good night, Zayn,” he murmurs, when they're both settled in and Liam's turned off the light.

“Good night,” comes the other's reply, voice so close that Liam thinks, if he reached out, he could touch him.

He doesn't.

“What's your name?” Zayn asks, almost as an afterthought.

“Liam,” he replies and Zayn echoes him, _Liam_ , tastes the name on his tongue, voice already sounding like he's half asleep.

“Good night, Liam.”


	5. Chapter 5

Liam's not sure what he expected to find when he wakes up, but it isn't his Iphone being dropped on his face.

Or thrown, apparently, and when Liam gets past the first surprise (and his nose stopped throbbing, because _ow_ ), he finds Zayn on the other side of the room, huddled in on himself against the wall.

“Huh?” Liam says, because it feels early – though it likely isn't – and he's not very eloquent in the morning.

Zayn glances up, and he looks panicked, and Liam blindly punches buttons on his phone until it stops blaring Katy Perry in his ear. “Fuck,” he mutters, rubs at his nose, gingerly feels just underneath his eye where the corner of his phone struck his skin. “Zayn?”

He's not really sure what he's asking, and it seems like Zayn isn't, either, because he just goes back to curling in on himself.

Liam's not sure what does it for him, really, maybe it's the sight of Zayn so small, so breakable, or maybe it's the fact that his brain isn't quite online after sleeping, but he finds himself kneeled next to Zayn in only his pyjamas, wrapping arms around him on instinct.

To his relief, Zayn doesn't flinch, though he doesn't quite hug back either. He just trembles, and Liam finds himself making soothing noises in his ear until the shivers subside, his hand brushing gently up and down his back until, at last, Zayn seems to relax a little.

“What's wrong?” He finds himself asking, loathe to draw away, the sound, that Zayn makes when he pulls back slightly, enough to coax him into holding on a little while longer.

“I'm sorry,” Zayn whispers, face pressed against Liam's throat, and Liam finds himself saying _it's okay_ before he even knows what Zayn's sorry _for_.

He spends a good couple of minutes trying to figure out what just happened, brain slowly putting the puzzle pieces together, but he doesn't ask. Doesn't want to, because he's not sure how Zayn will respond, and he doesn't want to accuse him of something he didn't do, and it's just, there's all these _what if_ s and _how should I_ 's and he's just really out of his comfort zone, here.

If there was a book called _How to deal with a magical being in six easy steps_ , Liam would really like to find that in his apartment right now. Or maybe _so you conjured up a Sex God: what now?_ It can even be from the things for dummies series, just as long as there's _something_ that can help.

Sadly, he figures that the only books that deal with this kind of thing aren't how-to books as much as they are self-help books or _get to a doctor because you might be delusional_ pamphlets.

Lou would help him, Liam's sure, but he doesn't really want to leave Zayn alone right now, and he's not sure how well Zayn would deal with his best friend, who is just so very _Louis_.

“Are you okay?” He ends up asking, and maybe that's not the best thing he's ever said, but it's not the worst, and Zayn's response is a tiny nod, so yay, progress? Maybe?

“I'm sorry,” Zayn repeats, and Liam nods, then shakes his head, wants to stress that whatever it is, it's fine, but from the quiet exhale he gets right after his apology, he figures there'll be more this time. And there is. “I wanted to figure out how your device works.”

Devi – oh.

“My phone?”

Zayn hums, finally pulling back from Liam, and his eyes look calmer now, though Liam has a feeling that he's slightly embarrassed. “You said it wasn't magic.”

Liam nods. “And you didn't believe me.”

It's not a question, but Zayn nods anyway. He doesn't offer up another _I'm sorry_ , and Liam is relieved and a little saddened at the same time. He knows he can't force Zayn to believe anything he says, can't make him trust him, and it's good that he doesn't pretend, for Liam's sake, because that means that he's still got some spirit in him, isn't just this broken thing that does whatever he's instructed to do, but it hurts a little too, he can't deny that.

There's nothing Liam wants more, right now, than to prove to Zayn that he's not an asshole, and that Zayn is more than just this play thing.

He's just not sure he'll be able to. They've only got a week until he disappears, and maybe showing him that there's still some kind people in this world is a cruel thing to do, because once their time is up, Zayn will go back inside that book, and Liam is willing to bet that the next person to summon him won't be interested in anything besides his sexual prowess.

He wishes that there was something he could _do_. Something to make up for everything that's been done to Zayn, but Zayn doesn't want pity and Liam isn't sure he can convince him that it's sympathy.

“That's okay,” he finds himself saying, when Zayn stays quiet. “Do you want me to show you how it works?” He's tried that last night, but maybe it'll be a slightly less bad idea in the light of day, and maybe letting Zayn touch the buttons will make him feel empowered.

Or maybe Liam just doesn't have a clue, but Zayn's not saying no, so that's something.

He retrieves his Iphone from the bed, holds out a hand to Zayn, who pauses before pushing himself up and sitting next to Liam on the sheets, ignoring the outstretched limb but sitting close enough that Liam can feel that he's not thrumming with that nervous energy.

 _One step at a time_ , Liam tries to tell himself, tries to hold onto the fact that Zayn doesn't seem scared of him – though he knows, all too well, that the reason Zayn isn't scared is because Zayn's likely lived through all the horrible sexual things people can think of, and that even if Liam had a sadistic streak and could surprise him, he wouldn't stop him. Because this is his calling, literally, and Liam hates his resignation as much as he can't help but admire him for it.

“Right,” Liam starts, touches a fingertip to the screen, slides it up to unlock, as it says. “Basically, what this does, really, is it allows you to keep in touch with other people. Or, that's what phones _used_ to be for, but these days, you can do a whole lot more.”

Zayn looks unimpressed, and it's kind of refreshing. Liam also feels kind of stupid, because half of the apps on his phone have gone unused since the day he bought the damn thing. He leaves most of them unexplained, glosses over some, including the camera, which makes the other boy frown.

“You capture someone, in there?”

And of course that would be the conclusion he jumps to, Liam can't blame him. He nibbles on his bottom lip for a moment, hands the phone to Zayn with a gentle smile. “Here. Press that button once you've focused it on me, yeah?”

Zayn seems alarmed, but also a little comforted, by the fact that Liam has handed him his device, and he does as instructed, eyes narrowing as he looks at the image. “Huh.” He says, and he sounds a little disappointed.

“Still here,” Liam quips, allowing for a small smile, and Zayn looks from tiny picture Liam to the actual real life version, sat next to him.

“Huh.” He repeats.


	6. Chapter 6

“Are you disappointed?” Liam asks, and there's a hint of a smile in his voice. Zayn looks almost guilty for a moment, finger tracing the mini-Liam on the screen as he shrugs, glances up through those impossibly long lashes. “It's okay, if you are,” he continues, even though the idea makes him uncomfortable. _He_ knows nothing would happen, but Zayn didn't, so does this mean that Zayn would like to lock him up, make him experience what he's experienced?

Zayn shrugs again, like he's not sure or maybe it doesn't matter, and Liam finds himself nibbling his bottom lip as he looks at him. “Did you really think-” he starts, but Zayn starts speaking at the same moment, falling silent after a stammered

“I would've let you-”.

“I don't blame you,” Liam says softly, and this causes Zayn to glance up at him, surprise warring with disbelief. “If it'd been me – I mean, I guess I can understand. You must've been so miserable, and lonely-”

Zayn shakes his head. “Don't,” he warns, but Liam pushes on.

“It makes sense,” his voice is gentle, despite knowing that Zayn hates pity. “I would want revenge too. Make someone hurt the way I've been hurt.”

“You don't know what you're talking about,” Zayn insists, louder this time, and he tosses Liam's phone on the bed, scowls as he pushes himself up. He ends up near the window and Liam watches him watch the world outside, the hustle and bustle of the city undoubtedly frightening. He wonders if Zayn would run away, if he even can. If there's a point to trying, when six days from now he'll be sucked back into that book.

Liam keeps the picture, tucks his phone under his pillow. “You're right,” he nods, rakes fingers through his messy curls. “I have no idea. Why don't you tell me?”

“Does that do it for you?” Zayn doesn't turn around, but his tone surprises Liam, malice lacing his words, where it was exasperation before, maybe even a hint of grief. “Playing the hero?” He soldiers on, knowing that it must hurt; doing it on purpose, Liam realizes when Zayn finally turns to meet his eyes. “Making me confide in you, so you can feel better about yourself? So you can convince yourself, after you fuck me, that you're not such a bad guy after all? Because at least you bothered to _ask_.” He scowls, crosses arms in front of his chest, looking Liam up and down as though he's the most despicable human being he's ever laid eyes on.

Liam shakes his head, forcing down the little voice in his head that says _maybe Zayn's right_ , parts his lips to say “No,” even when the seed of doubt is being planted. “Zayn, no.”

“Right.”

“I won't,” he insists, bites his tongue after “I won't sleep with you unless you ask me to.” slips out. The words make Zayn laugh, make him stalk over to Liam, prey turned predator.

“That settles it then.” He straddles Liam before Liam has a chance to push him off, meets his mouth in a searing kiss, one that he can't help but find himself responding to. “Fuck me, Liam,” Zayn breathes, tiny little motions of his hips driving Liam absolutely crazy.

His fingers twitch and his treacherous body tries to lean into the touch, wills itself closer, but Liam bites down on Zayn's bottom lip, hard enough to make him growl, sound cut off when he firmly, but gently, pushes the other away from him. “No,” he repeats, hand held up as though he's trying to ward him off. “That's – no.”

Zayn licks his lips, frustrated. “But I asked.”

Liam shakes his head again, wishes desperately for something cold to drink, or maybe some fresh air, something that'll clear up his mind, because his body says _yes_ despite the motion of his head. “You don't want to,” he murmurs, resisting the urge to brush fingertips over his mouth, feeling it tingle.

“Will you _stop_ acting like that matters?” He's proper mad now, hands clenching into fists, and Liam dumbly wonders if he's going to hit him, finds himself on his feet, stance equally angry, voice raised as he retorts.

“Will you stop acting like it _doesn't?_ ”

 

They stand there, chests heaving, fists clenched, in the middle of Liam's bedroom, sizing each other up until someone bangs on the wall, screams something undecipherable that Liam assumes means _shut the fuck up_. Zayn bellows back a “Be glad we're not having sex in here!” - and then the two of them end up doubled over in laughter.

It's by far the strangest situation Liam's ever been in, but oh, is it good to see Zayn smile. He's all crinkled eyes and softness, and Liam finds himself thinking _I wish you would always be like this_. The thought sobers him up, makes him almost desperate again, for something (anything) that'll make this better.

“Zayn?”

Something in Liam's voice stops Zayn from laughing, makes him swallow back tiny hiccuped giggles, his nose scrunching up when a slight sound escapes his lips. “Yes?”

He has to try twice before he finds his voice. “Do you think – am I cruel? For wanting you to have some happiness in your life? Not – not because I want to be different, but just .. is it going to make it worse, if I -”

Liam snaps his jaws shut, unable to properly give voice to what he wants, to what he's scared he shouldn't want – because regardless of what Zayn thinks, he _does_ matter. “It wouldn't be because I want to sleep with you, just so you know. You've made it clear that I don't need to be nice to you to get that, but I'd really like to prove to you that there's still nice people in the world, but I don't – I don't want it to make things worse?”

Zayn's the one biting down on his bottom lip now, all laughter and fight having drained from his body, making him look tired, vulnerable in the way that he lightly hugs himself. “I don't know,” he ends up saying, quietly, eyes not meeting Liam's. “It's easier to think that everyone's the same, but-” He shrugs, teeth going back to worrying over his bottom lip.

“I don't want to hurt you,” Liam says earnestly, absently reaching out towards Zayn, though the miles of naked skin on display make any touch seem far from innocuous. He settles for brushing his fingers through the short hairs at the nape of the other's neck. “but I'm not sure I could treat you the way everyone else has. That's not – I've never been like that.”

Just the idea of using Zayn makes him uncomfortable and slightly nauseated. Zayn is gorgeous, he'd have to be blind not to see that, and if Zayn had been a random guy at a club, Liam might've been tempted –- more tempted than he is now –- but it just feels _wrong_ to take advantage of him, though it feels equally wrong to screw him over emotionally instead.

“What would you do?” Zayn asks, and all Liam can focus on is how he hasn't pulled away yet, how he's still allowing Liam to touch him, and he finds himself overwhelmed with the amount of things he wants to do, to prove.

“Just – normal things, I guess?”

Zayn sounds a little exasperated again, though there's a certain fondness in his tone too, a gentleness that Liam isn't used to. “Liam,” he almost smiles, too, but reins it back in. “what I'm _used to_ -”

“Right. Sorry.” Liam's quick to interrupt him, not really wanting to hear all the things Zayn's used to, because he doesn't need _images_ to go along with the smooth skin underneath his fingertips, the warmth of the body on his bed, firm pressure where their knees touch. “Not that. At all, actually, and – could you stop? Trying? To sleep with me?”

Zayn frowns a little, and Liam hastens to add. “It's kind of like – I'm only human, you know? And there's only so many times that-” He cuts himself off then, winces. “It's hard to keep telling myself that you don't really want this if you're all over me.” He knows that that's the point, that Zayn is pushing him, trying to see how much Liam can take, and he knows that he's probably going to regret giving him a reason to do so, a confirmation that he _has_ a breaking point.

“And I don't want that, Zayn. I don't want you to – that's not what this is about, okay? If I do nice things for you, if I take you places and let you sleep and shower and eat, it's not because I'm expecting something in return and I – Zayn, I want you to trust in that, okay? If you can't trust in me, then I at least want you to know that I did those things because I _could_ , because I _wanted_ to.”

He doesn't want Zayn to go back inside that book and have this memory be tainted by sex, to have him thinking that doing these things is some kind of foreplay, or that it entitles him to anything. Liam just – he wants Zayn to experience _kindness_. Happiness is too much to ask for, he knows that, but he'd settle for contentment if that was all he could have. But in order to get Zayn comfortable, basking in what he deserves, he needs to know that there's no ulterior motive for any of it.

“I want you to have a good week, and not wonder when I'm gonna finally snap, or take what I know you won't stop me from having. I want you to know that you're safe, and that good people do exist, and that not everything in life has to be about sex.”

It's a whole lot to ask for, especially since Zayn's life _is_ all about sex, and Liam should probably take into account that Zayn could say no. That he could refuse Liam's attempts at being a decent human being, because it _does_ make things harder, he's sure. “Which, I guess, means, right now, that I'd like to take you to breakfast. If you want. If you think that that's okay.”


	7. Chapter 7

“What if I say no?” Zayn asks, and Liam really should have expected that question. He bites on his bottom lip, stealing little glances at the boy sat next to him, radiating innocence and insecurity, and Liam just wants to hug him and tell him it's all going to be okay. But it's _not_. And he can't do that if Zayn says no, because he more or less promised to try and respect his wishes.

“If you do,” he starts, slowly, brain trying to find the right words, though one look at Zayn makes him give up on that plan, as he doubts there _are_ right words in this situation. “If you do, then I'll try and take that as a good sign, because it means you said no to something, means you stood up for yourself, and I can't make that out to be a bad thing even if it goes against what I want.”

Liam takes a breath, offers him a smile. “If you don't want me to take you out, and treat you to a good time, then I won't, Zayn, I won't do anything you don't want me to. So, in that case, I'll just – make you breakfast here, I guess, and we can watch movies or something, and it'll be like two friends hanging out. I _can't_ be cruel to you, or just use you, even if you think I should, even if that would make it easier. I'm willing to do whatever I can to make you feel better, either now or in the long run, after you've-” His voice falters for a moment, smile vanished from his lips, though he tries to hide it by looking away, doesn't want the inevitable to be such a constant reminder. “But I can't treat you the way everyone else has, and I'm sorry – I'm really sorry if that's going to make things harder for you, but I _can't_ , Zayn. I'm not that guy.”

He expects Zayn to protest, to throw it back in his face that he _is_ that guy, deep down, because _why else_ would Zayn be here, but the other boy stays quiet for a moment, then nods, even if it looks more defeated than anything. “I'm starting to notice that, yeah,” he says, and it's odd how Liam can feel both happy and guilty at the other's words. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Yeah, I guess.” Zayn shrugs a shoulder then, glances down at the hands in his lap, Liam watching him fidget with his sleeves, slender fingers wrapping around a wrist next. “I just, um.”

Liam stays quiet, resisting the urge to mimic the fidgeting, or perhaps reach out and stop Zayn from wringing his wrists the way he does. He clenches his hands into fists instead, before unclenching them and tucking his fingers under his thighs.

“I'm gonna need clothes.” Zayn says, and it's quick, almost apologetic, followed up by “And I'm going to embarrass you. I don't – this world-”

“It's okay,” Liam hastens to assure him, tries for a comforting touch, but Zayn moves out of reach before he can, and Liam's fingers barely brush over his shoulder, already missing the way they were tangled in Zayn's hair, before. He opts for a smile then, half embarrassed, one that's mirrored by the other boy, who doesn't seem too sure as to whether or not he should've moved away. “I've got some friends that eat like pigs, I doubt you'll-”

Zayn interrupts him before he can finish. “That's not what I meant. I know about etiquette.” He looks almost haughty for a moment, before visibly deflating. “Or, I used to. I was _taught_ about etiquette.” His voice sounds sad again, softer, but this time Liam doesn't try and reach out, too worried that Zayn will realize who he's talking to, will rebuild those walls so Liam can't learn anything more about the boy Zayn used to be. “This world is different,” he continues, eyes moving towards the window, and Liam's follow, though he can't see more than the skyline of the city from here. “it's been a long time.”

“Can I ask-” Liam tries, but he expects the soft _no_ before he gets it.

“Not now.” Zayn amends, throwing Liam another of those almost apologetic looks, like he's scared that Liam will punish him for speaking his mind or going against what he wants. And Liam can't blame him, really, can understand that what Zayn wants is for Liam to follow the rules. To do what everyone has. It makes sense, he supposes. Misery is easier to deal with if it's the only state of affairs, no happiness to put things in perspective. “Maybe later.”

 

Liam knows it's not a promise, but he takes comfort in it all the same. There's something almost hopeful in that maybe, no matter how often he tries telling himself that it might not mean anything. That maybe it shouldn't mean anything, because as much as he didn't want Zayn to think that he's taking him out to breakfast to get in his pants, he also doesn't want him to think that he's doing it to soften him up and get the inside scoop.

He leaves it at that for the moment, just gets Zayn some clothes, chuckling softly when Zayn has to roll up the pants and tug up the sleeves so they don't cover his hands. The pea coat he hands him looks about three sizes too big, makes Zayn look so much more slender than he is, Liam's protective instinct kicking in before they've even made it onto the street.

Once there, it's easy to stay close to Zayn, because the other is literally surprised (and often-times downright _scared_ ) by everything that Liam's come to take for granted. He glances up in confusion when, after Liam hits a button to cross the street, the pedestrian stop light starts ticking, and Liam has to drag him along by his sleeve when the lights change and the sound accelerates. As a result, the light turns back before they've made it across, and an impatient driver honks for them to hurry up.

Zayn literally _jumps_ , and part of Liam can't help but laugh when he whirls around to locate the sound, eyes wide as saucers. “What the Devil-” he starts, aggravated tone masking the way Liam can feel him shake as he reaches out for him.

“Zayn,” he murmurs, trying to coax him into getting back on the pavement, now that other cars have started to add to the cacophony, along with some actually hitting the gas pedal in an attempt to get them to sod off. “Hey, c'mon.”

“What _are_ those things?” Zayn questions, voice quivering a little, and Liam can't help himself, he tugs him close and buries a giggle in his hair, holds on despite the annoyed sound.

“Ssh, hey, I'm not making fun of you,” he explains, and Zayn grunts like he's having a hard time believing him, which, okay, is kind of fair. “I'm sorry. You're just. You looked so cute.”

It's odd how that word makes Zayn relax into him, rather than shove Liam away, though he makes no attempt to hug him back. He just stands there, arms pressed to his sides, letting Liam hold him, until Liam starts to wonder if he's waiting for him to let go – and he does, about a minute after that.

“Sorry,” he murmurs again, not sure what he's apologizing for, and Zayn just nods, looks away, too slow for Liam not to notice the faint blush on his cheeks.

It makes him feel a little funny inside, but Liam firmly tells himself to stop acting like an idiot, aims for a _look-at-me-I'm-totally-unphased_ kind of voice. “So. Breakfast?”

Zayn's less than impressed look tells Liam that he's not fooling anyone.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry it's taken so long guys, I've had a couple of ridiculously busy days, but things should calm down soon! :) Hope you enjoy this chapter!

It's so strange. The whole, taking a guy out for breakfast, thing. It's not that Liam's _never_ taken anyone out for food before, though it's usually not breakfast. It's lunch, or diner, and the few times he's gone out for breakfast rather than fixing himself something at home, it's either been because he was too hungover to bother or because he's meeting up with a friend.

(Or, because Louis or Andy have spent the night and can't be bothered waiting for him to get dressed, let alone cook breakfast; and then there was that one month Louis practically dragged him to this diner every morning, because _the love of his life_ worked the early morning shift, but that is something that's never to be mentioned again. Ever.)

This is different. It isn't the way it'd be with a mate, but Liam's not stupid enough to think that this is a date, either.

It's awkward, is what it is, despite the hug they shared, or maybe because of that. Try as he might, Liam can't stop _noticing_ these little things about Zayn. Like how absolutely stunning he is, hazel eyes and long lashes that fan against his cheeks when he blinks. How mesmerizing he is when he smiles, and Liam shouldn't be pleased that the way he smiles at the waitress is vastly different from the way he smiles at him. It's polite, a little taken aback when she blatantly flirts with him, Zayn blinking at her when she moves away after they've ordered.

“Are all women like that?” He inquires, and Liam laughs. “She's so-” Zayn makes a face, shrugs his shoulder, eyes following her through the small diner.

“I thought you were used to people being overly familiar.” Liam ventures in answer, careful about his wording, worried that Zayn's smile will disappear as quickly as it was brought on.

He watches him turn back to face him, their eyes meeting for a moment before Zayn casts his down towards the table, brushing his fingers over the pattern on the table top. “I didn't expect everyone to be like that,” he mumbles, and Liam reaches out, covers Zayn's fingers with his own.

“Not everyone is,” he assures him, giving his fingers a little squeeze before resting his palm over his hand, touch light, almost hesitant. Zayn looks at the hand covering his, then raises his head again, their eyes meeting for a second or two, before he shifts his gaze back down to their hands, not moving away even when Liam expects him to. Liam bites on the inside of his cheek to keep a smile from showing. “She probably thinks that it's gonna get her a bigger tip.”

Zayn frowns, and Liam elaborates, though cuts himself off mid-explanation. “Or maybe she just thought you were fit.”

“Fit?”

The way Zayn echoes the word makes it sound so endearing, and Liam flushes a little, wondering how to explain, without making it sound like the entire world _is_ filled with 'overly familiar' people – and that he's one of them. “Handsome,” he says, finding himself flushing a little. “Attractive.” He doesn't say it's what he would think, if he was her. He doesn't need to.

 

They try and make conversation while waiting for their meal. Zayn seems interested in what Liam tells him, though Liam can't help but wonder if it's just him being polite, or if he genuinely cares about Liam's life. It might just be that everything's so vastly different than what he's used to, but Zayn doesn't interrupt him once during breakfast, letting Liam babble on about school and sports and how he almost went to the Olympics, how he always wanted to be a singer but decided on college instead, because the bills need paying and he's not sure if his voice is good enough.

Liam falls silent once he's said that, wets his throat with a sip of sweetened iced tea, and Zayn looks at him for a while, calculating.

“Will you sing for me?”

 

Zayn looked so earnest when he said it, so hopeful, that Liam didn't have the heart to tell him no. He's quiet on their way home, trying to figure out what to sing, distracted by just how much he wants Zayn to _like_ him. Or his voice. He's sung in front of people loads of times, is used to performing onstage in front of strangers, yet he's nervous now, so eager to impress him.

Zayn seems to simply _light up_ when Liam sits him down on his bed, retrieves an old and battered guitar from underneath it. He makes a move as though to touch it, slides his fingers tentatively over the worn and faded paint when Liam holds it out to him, touch almost reverent. “I love music,” he says simply, and Liam settles down onto the floor, cradles the guitar in his lap as he strums the strings, picks out a melody.

He thinks of modern music, of dubstep and rap and whether Zayn would like it, whether he would even label it music or merely consider it noise. He thinks of rock songs and metal bands and bubblegum pop, of how everything's so overproduced these days, to make up for a lack of talent or maybe just a lack of story telling. Liam doesn't vocalize any of it, just lets his fingers wander over the strings, hunched over his guitar as he finds his voice, loses himself in a song that has meaning.

That's what he loves about music. Feeling like he belongs, like there's someone out there who _understands_. Music makes him feel less alone, and it's a sappy thing to admit to, maybe, but he grew up wishing that he could give voice to his feelings and make others feel the same. He wants to tell stories through songs, more than anything, and sitting here, on his old and faded rug, playing an Ed Sheeran song on a slightly out-of-tune guitar, Liam's almost overwhelmed with the desire to make a difference. To change someone's life with his words and his voice, to reach out through song, touch a shoulder and say _hey, I get it, you're not the only one._

When the song ends, he's almost embarrassed by how choked up he feels, how vulnerable this has made him. Liam knows how to perform, he can own a stage and command attention, but this is different, it's music for music's sake, and he feels naked under Zayn's gaze. “I got bullied so much, growing up,” he says, and he's not sure why he's saying it. “I used to wish that there was someone who understood. Someone out there who'd gone through the same thing.” He's staring at his guitar, at his fingers that are idly picking out little snippets of music, long forgotten songs from his youth. “I felt so alone.”

Liam feels a little ashamed when he hears himself speak, wonders if Zayn thinks him weak, because how could he know about true loneliness when Zayn's gone through centuries of only being called upon for sexual favors, never having someone who even _tried_ to understand him, even get to know him? But when he looks up, Zayn doesn't seem angry, or frustrated, he doesn't seem to think that Liam's feelings are pathetic. He seems _moved_ , by his music or his words, hazel eyes a little less guarded, expression softer than he's used to seeing it. “I think you have a gift,” he says, and his voice is thick, emotion brimming under the surface, but Liam makes no attempt to decipher what's managed to get to Zayn, just smiles down at his guitar as he thanks him.

“Will you sing some more?” Zayn asks, and he's _blushing_ as he asks it, tacks on a completely unnecessary “please?”

“You really like it?” Liam asks, and he's not sure why he sounds so surprised, but it's nice, this is, it feels genuine, like Zayn's finally asking something for _himself_ , no ulterior motive. “You really like my voice?”

Zayn nods, staring down at his own fingers, staying quiet for a moment, as though he's wondering whether Liam's just fishing for compliments. Liam's about to assure him that that's not it, or maybe just start up another song, but before he can fumble for the first chord, Zayn speaks up again, his voice impossibly soft. “I do,” he says, but it's not those words that make Liam's heart lurch. It's what he says after. “It makes _me_ feel less alone too.”

 


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ick, I'm sorry for the long wait :( I don't mean to let you guys down, but I've been sick for the past week D: hope people are still reading! xx

This thing, Liam thinks three days later, is becoming a problem.

Not that _Zayn_ is a problem. Zayn is lovely. He's funny and sweet and he has stopped looking at Liam as though Liam is going to jump him any minute now, and they've been – it's been _fun_.

Once Zayn stopped expecting Liam to sleep with him, once he stopped _trying_ to get Liam to sleep with him, they've actually started to get along really well. Zayn's taken an interest in music (though he's still wary of the minstrel in a box and prefers to listen to Liam playing guitar) and despite his initial reluctance, Liam's managed to introduce him to television. He's decided to keep it simple for now, not go for movies –- because how does he explain that a character in a movie or series can die, but that it's not real, that they're only acting and the person is _fine_ in real life –- but putting on a football match here and there instead. It took him a while to explain that those little people running after a ball were actually doing just that, right now, just not in that box, but Zayn loves it now, cheers whenever a ball goes into the net, no matter what team ends up scoring a goal.

It's kind of cute.

And that's sort of the problem, because a _lot_ of the things that Zayn does are cute. Like the way he lights up whenever Liam tells him that yes, of course, it's totally fine to go and take a shower. Or the way he's gone from humming under his breath to quietly singing along when Liam plays guitar. But Liam's favorite Zayn is early-morning Zayn, hair fanned out over his pillow, cheek red and still indented with creases. Sleepy hazel eyes and full lips that stretch into a smile that inevitably gets overtaken by a yawn.

It's a problem because they've only got three days left before Zayn disappears. And Liam's not the type to believe in fate or even in love at first sight, he's not Louis who falls in love so fast that he'll swear he's met his soulmate a dozen times over. He's only known Zayn for _four_ days, but cliche or not, the thought that he'll _never_ see him again -

It makes him feel as lonely as he did in high school.

 

 

He wakes him up by softly shaking his shoulder, tells himself that he won't let Zayn steal his breath, but the moment those lashes make way to reveal still slightly hazy eyes, he finds himself chasing oxygen like all the times before. “Hey,” he murmurs, decidedly does _not_ feel just how soft Zayn's skin is underneath his fingertips. “good morning.”

“Morning,” Zayn yawns, stretches when Liam moves away far enough, though he's sorry to leave the warmth of the bed they've shared since the first night. He pretends not to notice that Zayn's slept a little closer every night, or that he's not exactly done anything to discourage him from doing so. “time is it?”

Liam spares his alarm clock a glance. “Early still. I figured we could go out today?” It had all sounded so perfect in his head. Get up at the crack of dawn, pack the car with a blanket and some coffee, drive off into the country side, have breakfast somewhere. Maybe a walk in a nearby forest, he'd thought, but telling Zayn makes him second guess his plans, makes him feel like he's trying too hard or maybe not hard enough. “We don't have to,” he adds quickly, upon seeing Zayn's furrowed eyebrows. “Forget it. It's probably dumb.”

“No,” Zayn interjects, smiling at him. “No, Liam, that sounds wonderful. I'd love to.” He sounds so earnest, and yet Liam can't help but part his lips, though Zayn laughs away the ' _really?'_ that he probably knows is coming. “I'm sure,” he confirms, rests his hand on Liam's arm for a moment, squeezes and then just rests it there, fingertips almost absently brushing over his skin.

Liam watches Zayn watch his fingers move, almost mesmerized. “Okay,” he agrees, voice soft, “do you want to take a shower first?” He watches as Zayn's fingers hover for a moment longer, before he glances up at him, shy but happy, face breaking out into a grin, and oh, he needs to _stop_ being so affected by that.

 

 

(One thing that isn't cute is Zayn's utter inability to get dressed and ready in under half an hour. Liam almost misses the boy that didn't see the point in having separate bottles for hair and body wash, though seeing Zayn all happy, with styled hair and bright eyes and _smelling like Liam_ , well, that sort of makes up for a whole lot.)

 

 

They finally make it out of the apartment by nine A.M., and Liam is surprised when Zayn doesn't freak out too much by getting into his car. He's seen them around, but he's never been inside of one, and Liam honestly expected Zayn to have more of a problem with it than he does.

(Maybe it helps that he's holding his hand.)

The purr of the engine gets drowned out by the radio, that Liam's turned on only because he knows that the radio will be less stressful to listen to than the sounds of oncoming traffic. He's turned it to a station that he knows plays easy listening music, and Zayn perks up when he hears Ed Sheeran, turns to look at Liam. “He's playing your song!” He says, and it sounds both impressed and maybe slightly angry, like he thinks someone stole it from him. Liam laughs, merges from one lane into another as he explains that that's the original, and although Zayn seems to understand, he still seems to scowl a little. “You sing it better,” he insists.

Ten minutes into their drive, Zayn scrunches up his nose, eyes opened to a slant because of the sun, and Liam wants to tell him there's a pair of spare sunglasses in his dashboard, but then Zayn closes his eyes and pillows his head onto his shoulder and that – that's better.

 

 

He thinks Zayn's fallen asleep about a half hour into their drive, and Liam's turned off the radio, humming under his breath to keep himself entertained, careful to steer clear from potholes in the road because he doesn't want to jostle Zayn and wake him up, because he feels warm and comfortable, pressed against him. 

Liam's hardly aware of singing until Zayn speaks, voice slurred, near his ear. “I want to hear you on the radio.” He says it so simply, so convinced that it's something that should happen, something that more people should want, and Liam wants to believe that it's true. Wishes that there was more magic in the world, magic that goes beyond Sex Gods from books and that makes good things happen to good people.

He tilts his head to press a kiss to Zayn's hair. “Maybe I will be, someday.”

(Someday, when Zayn is gone. Someday, when he's written songs about this, about them. Someday – and will Zayn remember? Will he hear him on the radio and know that it's him? Know that the song on the radio, with verses about winding lanes and sun filtering through dark hair and _magic wasn't enough to make you stay_ , is about him?)

Zayn hums. “I wish I could hear it. The first time you're gonna be on the radio. I wish I could be there.”


	10. Chapter 10

_Me too_.

He hasn't said it, but it sings around in his head, hangs in the air between them. _I want you to be there too, Zayn, I want you to be there with **me**_. It's in the second kiss that Liam presses to Zayn's hair, in the way that their fingers lace and Zayn hums quietly, like he's content to have him here for _now_ , in the way that his grip is tight like he's not sure he won't lose him even before their time is up.

It's in the soft sigh that escapes before Liam sings again, keeps singing just to fill the silence, until his throat feels raw and his lips are dry and they're miles from the city.

It isn't until he hears Zayn's stomach growling that he realizes neither of them have eaten, and he almost panics for a moment. “Shit! Sorry,” he whispers, eyes narrowing at the road ahead as though some small cafe will magically appear in the distance. “I didn't-”

“It's okay,” Zayn murmurs, presses his nose against Liam's neck when Liam shakes his head and wants to protest. “Li, it's fine.”

It's _not_. He doesn't want to be like them, like those people who forget that Zayn needs to eat, those people who think that they can just do what they want without regard for him, his needs, he should've thought this through, he should've-

“Liam.” Liam's fairly sure he hasn't said any of it out loud, but from the way Zayn's looking at him, it's almost as though he's been reading his mind. “We'll find some place to eat. Calm down.”

His fingers relax their death grip on the steering wheel, but he still sounds unhappy when he speaks. “I should've realized you were hungry. I didn't-”

Zayn brushes fingertips against his lips, smiles a little. “I could've said something.”

“But-”

“You're not like them, Liam.” His fingers linger against Liam's mouth for a moment, twitching as though they want to trace the arch of his lips, and Liam's almost delirious with how much he wants to press a kiss to his skin.

He nods, instead, watches as Zayn drops his hand to his lap. “Okay,” he croaks out, licks his lips and tries again. “Okay. Yeah. We'll um, we'll find a place soon, yeah?”

 

They end up in a small pancake place just off the side of the road, a few miles ahead. The walls of the building are almost completely swallowed up by large vines of ivy, a single brick poking through here and there, and the smell of flowers reaches them the moment they open the car door. Liam's in love with the place, and that's before he meets the old woman who owns it, before he sees how Zayn is positively _glowing_ , unable to keep his eyes from roaming.

(It's good, Liam thinks, that he's so distracted, because he needs a few seconds, maybe minutes, to keep _his_ eyes from roaming all over Zayn.)

The inside of the place reminds him of his grandparents' house, of old ticking clocks on the mantlepiece and big mugs of hot cocoa, of purring cats and old fashioned games, and it's just – it's so _nice_ , and he hadn't thought he would want Zayn to experience all of that, but he suddenly finds himself thinking of taking him home to meet his family.

It's wishful thinking, is what it is, but he finds himself talking about his grandparents nonetheless, tells him of birthdays and holidays and candy necklaces from the cabinet above the sink. Of bedtime stories and building a tent out of blankets and chairs, of camping in it one summer's eve. Zayn looks a little sad, but he waves it off when Liam tells him he can stop, smiles at him from over the rim of his large mug of cocoa (and Liam just loves the landlady even more, because she put in those tiny marshmallows just like he'd told Zayn his nan used to do). “I like hearing you talk about your family,” Zayn says, and Liam has to swallow more than just the pancakes before he's able to continue.

 

They end up spending over an hour and a half there, whispering to each other, talking to the landlady when she comes by to check up on them. Zayn asks about the place, remarks on how beautiful it is, how it reminds him of home, and Liam silently echoes her sentiment when she brushes a hand over Zayn's cheek and tells him what a lovely young man he is. 

She sits down and tells him about the business, how it's been in the family for years, how she really should take better care of it, but she's old and the vines are sturdy, and maybe it's silly but she's always liked the way nature ran its course. Zayn assures her that it's perfect the way it is, that he'll remember this place _because_ it's so overgrown with flowers, and she smiles and tells them that she hopes they'll come back.

“We will,” Zayn says, and he smiles at her, and Liam can't do anything other than nod and think _no we won't_ , because he's not going to come back here without Zayn, even if this woman might be the only person in the world who's seen him the way Liam does, who might miss him in a way that's sort of similar.

 

She insists on making them lunch, packing a basket full of sandwiches and freshly made iced tea. For on the road, she says, and Liam doesn't hesitate in kissing her cheek in thanks, watches as Zayn does the same. They leave the car in a parking lot, an hour or so later, take the basket into the forest for a walk. Liam's quiet for a while, listening to the twigs that snap underneath their feet, the birdsong that filters through the trees, watches specks of dust dancing in the muted sunlight. He has a vague thought of how maybe the presence of magic in this world means that there's actual Disney princesses too, somewhere, calling animals with their sweet singing voices, or maybe wielding a frying pan, singing about life that's yet to begin. He feels like maybe Rapunzel is his spirit animal, if not Zayn's, because although he's not the one having been locked up, he's bursting with the desire to _change_ that, at least.

“I'll miss this,” Zayn says, and Liam catches his gaze, wonders how long he's been staring at him. He can't quite remember when they stopped walking, or why, or how they ended up holding hands. He watches Zayn bite his lip, glance down towards the trail, sneaker (that he borrowed from Liam) scuffing the ground.

“Me too,” he says, and he hates how sad he sounds, because he wasn't going to do this. He wasn't going to make a big deal out of it, at least not until Zayn's gone and Liam has a date with a big bottle of _anything-strong-enough_ and plans to familiarize himself with Louis' shoulder –- because this is Louis' fault and he kind of hates him for it, but he loves him too because Louis believes in love and magic and he'll understand that Liam wouldn't have missed all these moments with Zayn even if saying goodbye threatens to hurt so much that he can barely breathe.

“Zayn?” Liam asks, when Zayn's just nodded to his words, and he wonders why Zayn won't quite meet his eyes until he sees the way his lashes cling to his cheek, slightly damp. Until he hears his voice, rough when he whispers _'Yeah?'_

“Can you tell me about the curse?”


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for the lovely comments and support everyone! hope you enjoy this chapter! ♥

Zayn lets go of his hand.

Liam tries not to read too much into it, but he can't help the soft “Zayn,” that falls from his lips, nor the way that his fingers twitch, reaching out despite himself.

He watches Zayn take a step back, fingers trembling as he rubs at his face, the look he gives Liam almost pleading. “I don't want you to look at me differently,” he says, and if he was near tears before, he's even closer now.

Liam wants to take him in his arms and reassure him, tell him that everything's okay, that he wouldn't ever think of him differently, but he knows what Zayn would think of empty promises like that. So he just stands there and tries to get him to meet his eyes, smiles a little when he finally does. “You don't have to tell me,” he says, and he both means it and doesn't.

“Yeah, I do.” Zayn argues, but it's quiet, almost hesitant, like he wants nothing more than to take the out Liam's given him. “I do,” he repeats, and it's stronger now. “because you deserve that, Liam. You're the only decent person I've come across for centuries, and you deserve to know the truth.” He glances away again, exhaling a shivery breath when Liam moves up to him, wraps his trembling fingers in his own.

“It doesn't matter what I deserve, Zayn. You don't _owe_ me anything.” He squeezes his hand softly, not quite tugging him close, though he wants nothing more. “I want to know, but I want you to want to tell me.”

Zayn exhales audibly, nodding again. “I do,” he says, and it's even softer than before. “I do, Liam, but – I know you think of me as a victim in all of this.” It's his turn to squeeze Liam's hand now, to shush him when he wants to interrupt. “If I tell you, you have to promise to let me tell you the whole story, no interruptions. Okay?”

 

It's hard, but he manages to hold his tongue throughout Zayn's narration of the story. From the way Zayn's hand feels in his, clammy and shaky, he knows how hard it is to have to recount what happened, and he wills himself to stay quiet, just walks with him through the forest as Zayn tells him about his life. Before.

“I was a prince, once,” Zayn starts, and for a moment his voice sounds soft, melancholy inked in his features, before he grimaces. “Not a very kind one. I had everything I could want. A palace. Riches. A kingdom that worshiped me. Men and women that would jump at the chance to spend a night in my arms. I took what I wanted, from them, from everyone, because I felt entitled to it. I didn't think I was born lucky, or that I had no right to the money that I had inherited. I had no reason to feel grateful for the way my life had played out. In my mind, I had _earned_ all of that, and anyone who caught my attention, however fleetingly, should be thankful for it.”

He laughs, softly. “People weren't – they didn't _matter_. I could take a girl to bed and once I'd finished with her, I'd kick her out, simple as that. If she'd had a husband, if she'd been betrothed, I didn't care. If anything, it amused me. If someone told me that what I was doing was wrong, I'd have them removed from my court, because what were they thinking? Talking back to _me_? I _enjoyed_ ruining lives, and I told myself that the reason no one denied me was because I was God's gift to men and women.” Zayn looks at him, eyes meeting for the briefest second before they skitter away, though Liam's glad to find that he's still holding onto his hand. “In reality, of course, they didn't have the luxury of saying no.”

Zayn stays quiet for a while, pulling him along through the forest, until they arrive at a clearing. They're deep within the forest now, and logically Liam knows that they're still in the same world as they were two, three hours ago, but with no sounds reaching his ears save from the ones belonging to nature, it's not hard to visualize Zayn's world, his _kingdom_.

“By the time I was twenty, the country was lucky to have managed to survive this long. I had advisers, of course, people who tried to make sure that my subjects were fed and clothed and protected, that we didn't go to war with other kingdoms. I was happy to let them take care of it, content to spend my life surrounded by pretty people, fucking and eating and sleeping and repeating the cycle. If someone wanted me to help them, I wanted something in return. Didn't matter what it was. Didn't matter if I could make someone happy, if anyone wanted a favor from me, they'd pay for it. One way or the other.”

Zayn's moving around now, unfolding the blanket that Liam's brought from the car, unpacking the picnic basket, waving Liam away when he tries to help. Liam, having moved to sit on a rock after being shooed away, watches him, figuring that it's easier for Zayn to talk when he's busy, even if it means Liam's left with nothing to do but look at him.

“One day,” Zayn continues, once he's laid out their lunch and gestured Liam to come sit with him. “an enchantress came to the castle. She asked for food, protection. I asked her what she would give me in return.” He takes a bite from his sandwich, looking at it, almost sadly. “She told me that being selfless was a big enough gift in itself.”

Liam chews slowly, half because Zayn is doing the same and he doesn't want to make him feel like he's being rushed, half because he has a feeling he knows where this is going (vaguely remembers a similar story from a Disney movie). The thought of Zayn – his Zayn – being cursed is something that makes him feel sick.

“I laughed at her.” Liam takes his hand again, and Zayn lets out a soft, choked back sound. “She was ugly, and I was – I told her to get out, told her that I had better things to do with my time than grant wishes for people who expect to get everything for free.” He snorts at that, shaking his head. “She laughed at me then, and I didn't understand why. Told me that just because I was a prince, didn't mean that I didn't have to pay my dues, or earn my keep, or something along those lines. I was of half a mind to toss her in the dungeons, have her strung up for treason, I don't even know. I didn't though. There was something about her that scared me, I guess, but I wouldn't let _her_ know that, of course. So I boasted about my conquests, told her that everyone loved me, that she was just jealous because she was an old hag and I was a sex god, and that I would spend the rest of my life having people _beg_ for a chance to be with me.”

He takes another bite from his sandwich, not letting go of Liam's hand, though Liam can feel it trembling beneath his touch again. “She told me that if that's what I wanted, if that's _all_ I wanted from life, to have sex and not give a damn about anyone but myself, then she'd grant me my wish.”

Zayn lets out a rush of air, shoulders shaking with the force with which he holds back a sob. “Next thing I know – I wake up in someone's bedroom, naked. I was confident at first, because it was _sex_ , I was _good_ at sex, I _loved_ sex. Turns out, it's not as great when you're the one who can't say no. When sex is all they want, all that you get, day after day after day, to the point where you're almost glad when the week is up. But that's bad, too, because then you're left alone, with your thoughts, with your memories, and you're just _waiting_ for that next time. Wondering who it'll be. Wondering what they'll want. Never knowing how much time has passed. Never knowing anything, except for _one_ thing. You'll never be more than what you are now, what you've maybe always been. You'll never be good for anything more than sex.”

 


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy valentine's! ♥

The silence between them lasts well beyond the time it takes Liam to finish his sandwich. He wants to say something, but he's not sure _what_ , and part of him is wondering if there'll be more to his story, because he might not know much about this kind of situation but he knows one thing:

curses can be broken.

It's like, the fundamental law of magic, or something. There's all these rules to it, of course, about the right person and the right time, and who knows, maybe the phase of the moon or whether or not he brushed his teeth this morning (he did, by the way, thank you very much), it's undoubtedly complicated and he'll probably have to rely on good luck but curses are like poison and sickness, they just need an antidote.

He wonders what Zayn would say if he brought it up, if he'd laugh at him for suggesting that maybe _he_ could be part of it, maybe he could break the curse and free him. Wonders if Zayn would tell him that being nice to him doesn't necessarily make him the hero in this tale.

“And then there was you,” Zayn says, and it's so quiet that for a moment Liam wonders if he's heard him right, if he means for him to hear it. He tilts his head and glances at him, and sure enough, Zayn's looking at him, half awe and maybe half trepidation.

 _Oh_.

“Me,” Liam mumbles, and it sounds so surprised that he can see the small smile beginning to form on Zayn's face.

He scratches at his neck. “You,” he confirms, and it's a little less quiet, though his voice is still soft, like it's a secret, or Liam's something valuable. “In my world? You should've been the prince. You should've been the one ruling a kingdom, because unlike me, you actually would've been good at it. You would've cared.”

Liam ducks his head, knows that he's blushing, even when he's shaking his head and trying to come up with arguments against Zayn's claims. He doesn't get any further than “I'm just – I'm just _me_ , Zayn,” and even he knows that sounds feeble.

“Exactly,” Zayn murmurs, and Liam's thankful when he looks away and pours him a glass of iced tea instead. He's never really liked this – talking about himself. Being paid compliments. He supposes he understands why Zayn rates him above all others he's encountered, but that – that really just says more about _them_ than it does about him. There's _loads_ of kind people in the world, Zayn's just never had the fortune of meeting any. He tries to explain that, but Zayn shakes his head. “Liam,” he says, and something in his voice stops Liam from protesting, leaves him to look at Zayn, even though he doesn't say anything else.

He finds himself suddenly near tears. “I don't want you to go.”

 

Zayn grimaces, and part of Liam wants to apologize, take it back, perhaps, but he holds his tongue. It's true, and he might as well stop dancing around the truth, because three days from now, there won't be another chance for Liam to tell him. “I want you to stay,” he says, and it sounds helpless.

Liam watches as Zayn stares pointedly at the blanket, before pushing himself up to his knees, beginning to clear away the remnants of their lunch. Liam knows the conversation's over, but he's not quite ready to let it go. “Zayn,” he pleads, but save for a small jerk of his body, Zayn doesn't acknowledge him, not until Liam reaches out and wraps a hand around his wrist. “Say something.”

“There's nothing to say,” Zayn grits out, and Liam almost falters, finds his grip on the other loosening.

“Isn't there?” He asks, and he's well aware of how desperate he sounds. “Zayn, I-”

Zayn shakes his head, moving away rather brusquely, though the look in his eyes isn't unkind. “There's nothing you can say that'll _change_ this, Liam. Three days from now, I'm gonna be gone, and there's nothing you or I can do about that, and that's _hard_ enough, okay? It's hard enough without you telling me these things, without making me feel like-” He sighs, giving Liam a look, and where Liam felt like protesting before, right now he only feels like apologizing. Zayn beats him to it. “I'm sorry, okay, just – I don't want to spend the next three days thinking about what's going to happen. I'd rather spend them happy, alright? As happy as I can be. Can we, can we just please do that?”

Liam sips his iced tea in silence for a moment, trying to sort through the thoughts that manifest in his head. There's so much he wants, but yet again he's forced to examine whether what he wants is what Zayn wants, and whether or not it's wrong to be selfish. He's silent for so long that Zayn offers another apology, quieter this time, and only then does he respond, shaking his head. “No, Zayn, you're right. We should focus on the time we've got left, if that's all we have, then I want them to be the best days of your life.”

The smile he gets is small, but thankful. “They will be,” Zayn says, and Liam knows what that means, also knows that it doesn't mean he'll stop trying to make him happy in the time he's got left.

“Can I – Zayn, is it okay if -” He finds himself flushing, two different questions fighting to roll off his tongue, and he's honestly not sure which one he ends up blushing over. Zayn looks amused, though his smile fades a little bit when Liam continues. “Will you let me try to find a solution? A way to make you stay?”

Liam knows that it's a long shot, that this isn't something he can Google or ask his mum about. He knows that he might not find an answer, no matter how hard he tries, but he also knows that he can't just give up. He can't sit and wait for their week together to end, because he – because Zayn means something. He means everything, and letting him go without a fight, letting him go back inside that book, it makes Liam feel like he might as well have been the one to cast the curse in the first place.

But he needs Zayn's permission. And he's not sure he'll get it, is prepared to argue his case, but all Zayn does is shake his head, a little sad. “Don't get your hopes up, okay?” is what he says, and Liam knows he's lying when he nods and answers,

“I won't.”


	13. Chapter 13

_Don't get your hopes up_ , Zayn said, and Liam stares at his laptop screen in the middle of the night, squinting against the bright light, wondering why part of him thought that this would be easy. Despite knowing that this is not a fairy tale, that there's no guarantee for a happy ending, he had hoped (and maybe partially expected) that the answer would just magically come to him. That he'd sit here, looking at Google, and instead of a blinking cursor there'd be the exact right question typed into the screen, the perfect search terms just poured out from his fingers. 

Instead he just feels tired, and there's a headache threatening to erupt, soft throbbing beneath his temples, and he _wants_ to be the hero in this tale. He wants to have justice on his side, or divine guidance, he wants to know that he's doing the right thing. Like Hansel and Gretel and their bread crumbs, he just wants something that tells him he's on the right path.

(Though, he's not sure that analogy makes sense, because he vaguely remembers something about crumbs being eaten and them losing their way, but he's too tired to sift through memories of fairy tales and legends, and it's not like any of it would be helpful, unless there's an as-of-yet-undiscovered story from Hans Christian Andersen that deals with Sex Gods and how to break the enchantress's evil curse.)

Hell, he'd settle for a random talking animal right now.

He's frustrated, chiding himself for his lack of knowledge, for playing at being a prince when he's just a normal boy, barely an adult. It's not the first time that he wants to call up his mum and tell her everything, but where mama Payne usually has all the answers, he doubts she's any more of an expert in this particular situation.

His eyes feel dry and irritated, but he keeps staring at the blinking cursor, willing something to come to him. He barely hears it when the bed creaks and the sheets rustle, though he hears the soft, sleepy voice calling his name. “Liam?” It sounds thick, confused, and Liam finds himself near tears even when he can't help the smile that appears on his face. “What's wrong?”

Liam shakes his head, turning to watch Zayn, faint glow from the laptop enough to distinguish his shape. “Nothing,” he says, doesn't need light to know that Zayn's expression shows he's less than convinced. “I didn't mean to wake you.”

Zayn shrugs a shoulder, stays buried underneath the blankets, and Liam's grateful for this time of night, when everything's quiet and things seem simpler, when there's no harsh light to put things into perspective and call out insecurities, details. He blushes a little when Zayn speaks up. “Come to bed, Li?” He whispers, and Liam's heart aches. “Please?”

Liam glances back towards the computer, sighing as he closes it. He doesn't even know where to start, it's not likely he'll find a full solution if he just sits here and stares at Google for an hour longer, but he still feels like he's letting him down when he crawls back under the covers. “I'm sorry,” he whispers, and Zayn makes a sound, pulls him close so Liam's nose is pressed against his clavicle, Zayn's fingers tracing patterns on his back.

“Ssh,” he says softly, threads fingers through Liam's hair. “Go to sleep, Liam.”

He wants to tell him that he can't, that he doesn't want to miss even more time, that there's only so many hours left, he shouldn't waste them _sleeping_ , but Zayn keeps combing his fingers through Liam's hair until everything goes fuzzy at the edges.

 

“Give that back, you demon!” 

is what Liam wakes up to, and he's not as surprised as he should be. He's half worried that between this morning and now, an _actual_ demon might have somehow manifested in his apartment, but when he pads into the kitchen, bleary-eyed and barefoot, he finds Zayn scowling at his toaster, brandishing a fork. “Um,” Liam says, rubbing at his eyes. “Good morning?”

Zayn whirls around; there are black smudges on his face, he's still wearing Liam's sleep shirt and his hair is all soft and sticking up in every direction, and Lord help him, Liam's in love with him.

“What's going on?” He inquires, and Zayn's shoulders fall as he motions to the toaster.

“I tried to make you breakfast.”

The toaster's giving off smoke, and Liam can't help laughing at Zayn's disappointed face. He squeezes his waist as he moves over to take a look, accepts the fork that Zayn hands him as though it's a sword and he's up against a dragon.

“I don't know what I did wrong!” Zayn exclaims, sounding annoyed, and he scowls at the blackened pieces of bread that Liam finally manages to extract from the toaster. “You told me how this device is supposed to function, but it refused to cooperate!”

"Perhaps it was hungry, or demanding a sacrifice” Liam quips, and he kisses Zayn's nose when the other's scowl deepens. “You really tried to make me breakfast?”

He watches as Zayn's cheeks color a little, suddenly so aware of the fact that his hand is still lingering on Zayn's waist, that he can feel his shoulder press against his chest. Liam's careful not to move or draw attention to their closeness, because he knows that the moment he does, Zayn will pull away. He tries to be okay with whatever Zayn is willing to give him, even if it's increasingly difficult to keep himself from making a move he knows will turn out to be a mistake.

“Thank you,” he murmurs, when Zayn fails to reply, and Liam squeezes his waist for good measure. “That's sweet of you.”

Zayn smiles a little, but he looks disheartened, eyes flickering towards the burnt toast. He reminds Liam of a little puppy, being scolded or perhaps even kicked, and it makes him want to cuddle him and protect him from any and all dangers this world could possibly pose. Even when that includes toasters. “I just – I wanted to say thank you.”

Liam squeezes him again, worried that he'll end up stroking his waist or his hip if he doesn't keep the tight grip he has on Zayn's middle. “You don't need to,” he insists, but he's not sure how convincing he is when he's all but nuzzling into Zayn's hair, hiding a smile against the other's dark strands.

“Want to,” Zayn counters quietly, arms moving to circle Liam's waist, and Liam's not sure how much time passes while they stand there in his kitchen like that, only that it's never going to be enough.


	14. Chapter 14

It's time, Liam thinks, to bring out the big guns. And by big guns, he means Louis, and by bring out, he means he's going to have to call him and explain the whole story and pray that Louis doesn't think he's gone nuts. 

He decides to call him after breakfast, when Zayn's in the shower and Liam is in no danger of being overheard. He's still in danger of his eardrums being ruptured by Louis' shriek, but luckily Liam's used to that, and prepares himself to keep the phone well away from his ear.

When he finally manages to interrupt him long enough to explain the reason of his call, he's met with silence. And then Louis ends up laughing, these loud hiccuped giggles, interspersed with gasps for breath. _“Oh,”_ he says, voice tinny through the cellphone's speaker, _“oh you nearly had me there, Payne. That's a good one!”_

Liam can't exactly blame him for being skeptical, but Zayn won't stay in the shower indefinitely, and he needs Louis' help. So he tells him to kindly shut up and _help, please, Tommo_.

He's not sure that Louis isn't still joking around, because he's being awfully giddy and flippant about the whole ordeal, and the advice he gives him seems largely unhelpful (“ _wish him free!”_ \- “He's not a genie, Lou.” - _“You don't know that! Maybe you just haven't rubbed him the right way.”_ \- “What does that even _mean_?” - _“Xtina? Genie in a bottle? Pop culture references are lost on you, Payne, how tragic.”_ \- “It's tragic that you consider that music.” - _“How very dare you.”_ ).

The back and forth manages to distract him though, and even if Louis is a gigantic prick sometimes, Liam still loves him, even more so when his best friend suddenly stops laughing, asks him in that quiet voice (that Liam associates with early mornings and not-quite-there-drunk evenings, with vulnerability and that big heart that Louis tries not to wear on his sleeve) if he's serious. If there's really – and when Liam confirms that he's not trying to play a prank on him, Louis hums in an all-too familiar sad tone. “Only you, Li,” he murmurs, and Liam makes a noise of agreement.

“What do I do, Louis?” Lou isn't his mum, but he's a good second on the list of people that Liam would go to for advice, even if it's accompanied by nipple twists and alcohol and getting made fun of for the rest of his life. “How do I _fix_ this?”

Louis is silent for a moment. “You really want him to stay, huh?” He sounds gentle, and not at all judgmental, like it's totally sane for Liam to want a magical being to stay in his life, despite having known him for all of four days.

Liam replies with a thick “Yeah,” and Louis hums again. Liam's eyes are trained on the bathroom door, ears trying to pick up the sound of the shower still running, droplets of water raining down against the tiles. He's hardly aware of holding his breath until he hears Louis' voice again.

“I can try and find the address of the store I got that book from? It's a long shot, I know, but the guy who works there – he didn't seem to think it was just a laugh. The place was packed with mystical books and incense and whatnot, maybe he's just crazy but-”

“This whole situation's kind of crazy.” Liam points out, and Louis laughs.

“Yeah. So let me get back to you on that, alright? And in the meantime, well, I know that TV isn't anything to go by, but maybe Once Upon A Time isn't foo far off. True love's kiss breaks any curse.”

Liam snorts, a millisecond away from rolling his eyes before he realizes that really, what does he have to lose? How is it crazy to believe that TV-shows might have some truth to them, no matter how outrageous the plot, when the past couple of days have shown him that reality is not as simple and straightforward as he'd always believed?

It just - “What if it's not true love?”

“Don't be an idiot. If this is happening – and I'm inclined to believe that it is, because you're not a good enough liar to pull off a prank like this, Liam, nor do you have my creative mind – don't deny it, you know it's true.” Liam does roll his eyes this time, though he doesn't argue, because Louis is right, he would never come up with a story this ridiculous and far-fetched. “Anyway. If this is happening, and there's a Sex God in your shower right now-”

(It's a testament to how good of friends they are, that Louis isn't berating him for not taking advantage of the situation, just leaves it at a well-timed cough that Liam answers with a snort.)

“This stuff happens for a reason, mate.”

Liam snorts again. “Yeah, because you got me drunk and made me summon him.”

“There we go then.” Louis sounds wholly unrepentant. “You can consider me your fairy godmother.”

“You've certainly got the fairy part covered,” Liam shoots back, and Louis ends up laughing.

“Oy.” He says, trying for indignant, though both of them know that Louis isn't the type to feel insulted over what they're aware isn't meant to cause offense. “I love you too, Lili.”

Liam rolls his eyes at the nickname. “Yeah, yeah. Save it for the love of your life. Who is it this week?”

Louis makes another one of those indignant sounds, then sighs. “Fair point.” Liam's fairly sure that he's smiling at the phone, can hear it in his voice, a matching smile on his own face, though it fades somewhat at his friend's next words. “I'm sorry, Liam. For what it's worth.”

“Sorry?” He echoes, and he can hear Zayn's turned off the shower now, tears his eyes away from the bathroom door in case he comes out naked, having left his towel on the floor, again. “What for?”

“Like you said. This wouldn't have happened if it weren't for me.” Louis is, once more, uncharacteristically serious. “I hate the thought of having done this to you. If – if it doesn't work out, I mean. If you have to say goodbye to him at the end of this week. You know I didn't mean to hurt you, right? You know that.”

Liam gets up from the bed, collecting an outfit for Zayn to wear, one that he ends up handing over when a hand reaches out of the fogged up bathroom, damp fingers curling around fabric before it disappears in favor of a small, thankful smile and curious, crinkled-up hazel eyes.

The door closes again after Liam returns the smile, and he sighs into the phone. “I know. And I'm not, Lou. Sorry. Even if – I'm not sorry, for any of it, alright?”

How can he be? How can he be sorry for meeting Zayn? For falling in love, for realizing, once more, just how badly he wants to make it as a musician? How can he regret being this happy, regardless of when it'll end? “It's worth it,” he stresses, and Louis doesn't argue.

He also doesn't tell him to be careful – because Liam knows, just like Liam knows that Louis is never careful, not when it comes to love, though he's not as careless as he'd like people to believe, either. He just sighs softly, in that way that Liam knows would accompany a soft brush of fingers through his hair, a tight hug, if Louis was there with him. “I love you, Lou,” he says, his own hug back through the phone, and he hears Louis' smile in his voice again.

“Remember,” he says, and it's all fond and maybe a tiny bit exasperated, like Liam's brought this onto himself and Louis is the responsible sibling, assigned to save the day. Liam would laugh at it, would call him out for it if he wasn't so distracted by Zayn's shy smile as he exits the bathroom. “true love's kiss.”

Liam has never wanted Louis to be right more.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> another long wait, I am so very sorry! I had a nasty case of food poisoning, and a friend of mine got quite sick, too, so I spent my free time taking care of her. Things are looking up, but I might not have time for another speedy update, I do apologize!

How, exactly, Liam is supposed to go about kissing Zayn, he's not sure. 

He knows the logistics, obviously, and though he won't brag about his kissing abilities, he's never heard any of his exes or hook-ups complain, but he can't just lay on one him the moment Zayn steps out of the bathroom.

(Though the way he looks, hair still damp, barefoot, cheeks flushed – Liam can't say that he doesn't _want_ to)

Instead he just returns that soft, shy smile, says an absent goodbye to Louis, never once taking his eyes off Zayn. Zayn looks curious, but he doesn't ask, he never does. He's still careful like that sometimes, like he isn't quite sure just how much he's allowed to insert himself into Liam's life.

Liam's thought of introducing him to Louis, but then that'd mean having less time with Zayn all to himself.

“Is there something you want to do today?” He asks, but before Zayn can answer, Liam's back to thinking about kissing him. He doesn't _mean_ to get distracted, but Zayn's smiling at him like that again, and his lips look like they'd be soft. Maybe a little chapped.

And suddenly Liam realizes that even if he kisses Zayn, he'll never know if it works, not until the very last moment. He can mold his mouth to Zayn's, tell him all he feels in the soft press of lips on lips, but he won't know if it's true love (Louis' logic be damned) or whether the theory of true love's kiss being enough is actual fact. What if he thinks it'll work, only to wake up, Sunday morning at 4 A.M. - and Zayn's gone?

“Liam?” Zayn's voice breaks his reverie, and Liam blinks up at him, flushing a little.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, shaking his head. “What were you saying?” And then, because he can't stop _thinking_ about it. “I talked to Louis about how to break your curse.”

Zayn doesn't bother repeating his answer, just sighs in that fond and simultaneously disappointed way that he does sometimes, whenever Liam brings this up, and Liam makes a face.

“I'm sorry,” he mutters, irrationally defensive, and he even scowls a little, until Zayn sits down next to him and brushes his fingers through his hair. “I just-”

“I know,” Zayn says softly, fingertips tracing worry lines on Liam's forehead. “And I love you for it. But at the same time-” He trails off, uncertainty etched in his features as he looks at Liam. “What? What'd I say?”

Liam rests his palm against the hand Zayn's got pressed against his face. The words are on the tip of his tongue (You love me?), but he shakes his head instead, tiny shift, so aware of Zayn's fingers on his skin and how he doesn't want to lose the warmth of his hand on his face. “I wish I could just keep summoning you. Over and over.” He knows it doesn't work that way. Read through the little information that was written alongside the enchantment. Once per person. Once per lifetime.

He doesn't think he knows enough people who would summon Zayn for him, though he's not dismissing the idea, if he can't come up with something better. Something that'll actually _break_ the curse, and allow Zayn to stay with him, as a mortal.

Zayn makes a sound, half a laugh, half exasperation. “I'd never age, Li.”

“So?” He knows it sounds childish, but Liam's been friends with Louis for long enough that he knows the value of pouts and stubbornness.

“You'd grow older, want a family. Someone you can marry. Someone that'll-” Zayn cuts himself off again, though this time it's not because Liam's giving him a certain look – not that Liam isn't giving him a look, and he's pretty sure his look is radiating _you're such an idiot, I just want_ _ **you**_ , but Zayn isn't looking at him, has likely not even seen Liam's silent protest.

“So what you're saying is,” Liam can't stand to see him so disheartened, especially knowing that he's the one who brought it on. “you won't love me when I'm old and grey and wrinkly?” It has the desired effect: Zayn's head jerks up, eyes widening before he starts grinning, those crinkles appearing around his eyes. Liam cherishes his laugh, startled and fond as it is, and squeezes Zayn's hand before dropping his own to his lap.

There's time, he thinks. Later. There'll be more time to finish this conversation.

There _has_ to be.

 

 

He's not sure where time went.

But it's Saturday.

It's _Saturday_ , and in less than twenty-four hours, Zayn is going to be gone.

And Liam hasn't done a damn thing to break the curse. He's made a valiant attempt at getting Zayn to come to the book store with him, but every time he brought it up, Zayn's made some excuse.

His excuses always manage to include cuddles, or things that he knows Liam knows he loves, things that he knows Liam won't deny him. Liam's not completely sure that Zayn's doing this on purpose, but by the time he wakes up on Saturday, he's running out of time.

Liam wouldn't say that he's _wasted_ it, because he agreed, at the start, that this week was about making Zayn happy, and apparently what makes Zayn happy is watching TV with him, or listening to Liam play guitar and sing. Or eating breakfast in bed, and falling asleep in each other's arms.

(What makes Zayn happy, apparently, is _Liam_ )

But between cuddles and football (and explaining offside to Zayn, and hearing how strange it is that when a player gets injured, he has to go off the field instead of the perpetrator – “ _how does that make sense? Now they get punished twice!”_ –- and Liam kind of has to agree with that) and Zayn having a few more battles with the toaster (and finally, on Friday night, when they were hungry but too lazy to do more than what was absolutely necessary, triumphing over the toast –- _“aha! I defeated you!”_ –- Liam will never forget the look on Zayn's face as he came back into the living room, still brandishing a fork), between moments that he'll never forget, no matter how mundane they might seem, seconds and minutes and hours have trickled away, leaving Liam to wake up with a dull ache in his chest.

He glances away from the clock on his bedside table, exchanging harsh red digital numbers for Zayn's sleeping form, a much more forgiving visual. Liam bites his lip, resisting the urge to wake him, or to trail fingers over his face and try and memorize the shape of his nose, the full bow of his lips, because looking at him isn't enough, anymore. He wants to remember Zayn in every possible way, because his ears and eyes can't do him justice, he can't print _Zayn_ into his memory. No matter how hard he tries, he'll always end up with a bleak copy, something that can't ever do justice to the sound of his laugh or the warmth in his hazel eyes.

True love's kiss, Liam thinks helplessly, and this goes against everything he's told Zayn from the start; how he wouldn't touch him, unless Zayn asked him to. How this week wasn't a slow build-up to something more. How he'd never take advantage of him. But it's Zayn, under his skin, in his head, in his heart. In his bloodstream.

It's _Zayn_ , and it's not about kissing him, not really. It's not about wanting to find out how his lips feel or how he tastes, it's not about the slight sounds that he wants to coax from him, the little puffs of breath that ghost over his skin, it's not about any of that. It's about _all_ of that, but it's about – about getting that, a day, a week, a year from now. About waking up with him and seeing him age and never having to fear that he'll leave him, at least not in the way he does now.

Maybe it's not true love, and maybe it is, and maybe it doesn't even matter, because breaking this curse isn't about Liam. Isn't about _his_ true love as much as it is about giving Zayn the chance to be happy. And yeah, Liam wants that to be with him, but if it isn't, he _still_ wants that for him.

His lips _are_ soft, though a little chapped, and unresponsive, since Zayn's still asleep and Liam feels like something of a creeper. His heart beats so loudly in his chest that it's almost painful, and he finds himself holding his breath, finds himself waiting as though something will happen, something will tell him that this worked.

Fireworks, maybe, or a fairy Godmother. Or maybe an echo from an old, evil enchantress, screaming a faint _nooooooooo_ as she has to release the grip she's had on Zayn for centuries.

Nothing happens.

Zayn doesn't even wake up.

Liam stays perfectly still for over a minute, but Zayn just exhales softly, burrows deeper into the pillows when Liam finally shifts away – after a moment of indulgence, a kiss brushed over Zayn's forehead. He carefully untangles himself from the sheets, ignoring the heavy weight in his chest.

Liam's not sure if this means a fairytale is just a fairytale, or if this is the cliffhanger, rather than the end.


	16. Chapter 16

Much as he hates to wake Zayn (and much as he wishes that Zayn would've woken up when he kissed him, as opposed to having to resort to shaking his shoulder), Liam ends up doing just that, a few minutes later. 

(A few minutes that he spends admiring his features –- the long, smooth column of his throat, his strong facial characteristics; all hard angles from his jaw- and cheekbones, countered by the soft skin on slightly rosy cheeks and fanned out eyelashes; his perfectly straight nose that twitches, sometimes, in sleep, and Liam shouldn't know those things, knows that he spent too much time staring if he can sense from the way Zayn breathes that he's close to waking, but it's all he has, all he can do now, to keep Zayn alive in his memories, if he doesn't end up finding a way to break the curse)

“Zayn,” he whispers, fingers brushing over his shoulder, rather than shaking it, itching to stroke through his hair, brush his fringe from his forehead, but he's already broken one rule, he's not about to cross another line by doing something Zayn never gave him permission for. “Zayn, it's time to wake up.”

Zayn growls something undecipherable that makes Liam shiver, rolls over and presses his face against Liam's collarbone, breath ghosting over his skin, causing him to break out in tiny goosebumps. “Stay,” he hears him mumble, muffled against his skin, and Zayn wraps an arm around his waist, cuddles close and almost has his leg wormed in between Liam's thighs before he can do so much as breathe. “'s early yet. We don't have to get up.”

Liam laughs softly, ignores how off it sounds, breathy tone hopefully lost on the sleepy boy his arms have already snaked around. “You haven't even looked at the clock,” he chides, and Zayn makes another sound, burrows closer, determined.

“Don't care,” he punctuates his words with a firm squeeze of his arms, indicating that he wants a cuddle, and Liam's sighing, pressing his face into Zayn's hair, inhales his smell so deeply that his lungs ache. “Stay,” Zayn murmurs again, and already his voice is sleep-thick, words slurred a little, and Liam knows that if he stays silent now, Zayn will drift off in no time.

It's so tempting.

Everything about Zayn is.

(He's reminded of little kids, of how they'll inevitably go for one sweet now versus three sweets later, because instant gratification is so much more rewarding than having to wait, even when you know the pay-off will be worth it. He's reminded of learning to be patient, of working for something and how great it is to know that you've earned something and that being greedy would've messed it all up.

Right now, Liam feels decidedly toddler-ish.)

“Zayn.” Liam swallows, closes his eyes and hugs him tight, wonders almost deliriously if Zayn will still have bruises the next time he appears with someone, if he leaves them on him now. “You need to stop tempting me,” he grits out, shifts to put an inch or two of distance between them, though he can't look at Zayn's almost crestfallen face. It makes him feel like he's just kicked a puppy, and he wants to reassure him and cuddle with him and fall back asleep but that won't _fix_ things.

Zayn finally realizes Liam won't give in this time, and he loosens his hold on him, looks almost ashamed as he wriggles backwards, eyes cast down so all Liam can see is his eyelashes. “Sorry,” he mumbles, and he sounds so dejected that Liam finds himself cradling the other's face even before he continues speaking. “I know you don't – I know that this – you don't want -”

He almost laughs, but it's a joyless sound. “I want,” he says, and his voice nearly breaks with how much he means it. “I _want_ , Zayn. All of it. I want to kiss you, and I want to hold you in my arms, and I want to make love to you – I want to show you how good it can be, I want to be the one that makes you feel good.” His words sound rough, hands a bit too tight on Zayn's face but he pushes into it, way he licks his bottom lip almost too much for Liam to bear.

“I want that too,” Zayn confesses, the words tearing a groan from Liam's lips, body shivering when Zayn reaches out trembling fingers, traces them down his chest. “I want you to.” He looks at his hand on Liam's body, at the contrast of their skin tones, fingers finding a path down to his stomach, that clenches involuntarily.

Liam's torn between feeling proud of himself and kind of hating himself a little when he stops Zayn's hand from moving lower, traps his fingers against his abdomen, thumb brushing over the knuckles. “Later,” he promises, has to swallow at the look in Zayn's eyes, heat and want and fear and disappointment, and Liam finds himself brushing his nose against Zayn's, catches the corner of his mouth with his lips. “I swear, Zayn, we'll do anything you want – just – come with me to that bookstore, first? Let me try and find a solution, one last time. If it doesn't work, if there's nothing we can do –- I'll give you anything we want, anything to make you happy.”

Zayn is barely breathing, fingers flexing uselessly under Liam's palm, and he doesn't look at him for a minute, turns away a little when Liam tries to brush a kiss over his cheek, lips landing near his ear instead. Liam takes advantage of the proximity to breathe out a quiet “Please,”, follows it up with an even softer, “I want to keep you.”

“I'm not property,” Zayn counters, but it's soft and tentative, like he wants to but is afraid to believe, afraid to hope for something he'd so long wished for, something he'd told himself would never happen.

“No, you're not.” Liam agrees, his fingers tangling with Zayn's under the covers. “And if this works, if I can break the curse somehow, that doesn't mean – you don't have to stay with me. If – if you don't want to. You can –- I don't _own_ you. You'd be free to go wherever you want to. You're free to make your own decisions. And I know that it's not going to be easy, I know that this world is new to you and you don't have any money or clothes or an income, but, we can figure that out, okay? You don't have to stay with me if you don't want to, and you wouldn't owe me anything, even if I helped you get you on your feet, you wouldn't – just, Zayn, I, _please._ ”

He sounds a little desperate by the end of his plea, words tripping off his tongue so fast that Zayn hasn't had a chance to interrupt him, because Liam's so used to his protests. To stubbornness and _no_ just because Liam suggested something, to doing the exact opposite of what Liam wants just to be a total git, and Liam hates that, but he loves it too, wants to fight with Zayn over things like that, forever. Over coffee versus tea and how lame some football rules are and how Liam is wasting his time in college, he wants Zayn to argue with him over what they're having for dinner and who gets to have the shower first, over five more minutes in bed when they know it'll mean they're late for whatever plans they made. He wants that, all of that, wants Zayn difficult and moody and playful and soft, wants him to be _his_ , just as he is, not just for the next twenty-four hours but for the next week, month, year.

“Okay.”

“Yeah?”

Zayn rolls his eyes, slight hint of color on his cheeks betraying his shyness, where the lips suddenly pressed against his mouth feel anything but hesitant. “Yeah.” He confirms, voice soft, breath hitching before he stutters out his words. “If this works –- I want to stay. I want you to try, because I want to stay. Here. With you.”

Liam hugs him tight, heart feeling light, though it sinks the moment he hears Zayn's soft sniffle, face pressed against his throat again. He makes a questioning sound as fingers already move to rub his back, soothing noise released into his hair.

“I'm scared, Li.” Zayn whispers, clinging to him. “I'm scared of getting my hopes up, and then waking up without you.”

Liam tightens his embrace, presses his lips to his hair. “I won't let that happen.”

“You might not have a choice.”

“No. I won't let that happen Zayn.” He'll find a way. He'll break the curse, somehow. He'll make it work. “I'll fix this. Just you wait and see.” Liam knows he shouldn't promise these things, knows that it's only going to hurt worse if he ends up failing him, but he can't shush him and tell him not to think of it, not when time's running out. “Trust me.” He whispers it into his hair, stomach clenching at the memory of telling Zayn that before, of the other's answer.

Zayn just hiccups this time, presses closer. “I do.”


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> life keeps intervening with this story, I apologize! But we're getting to the end of this fic, so I hope you're all still enjoying it ♥

Liam can't bear to let go of Zayn for more than a minute, so he holds his hand, from the moment he locks his front door to the moment they enter the book store Louis' text told him to go to. The place smells like incense, air kind of smokey, and – are those actual crystal balls used as book ends? Liam's heart gives a lurch at the sight of it, because if any kind of place would have a solution it'd be this. Some old, barely lit, tucked away book store that looks like it hasn't seen a duster since the mid-sixties. It's a far cry from Barnes & Noble, with their fluorescent lights and sections on travel and dieting. 

Zayn squeezes his hand, fingers laced, and they both glance around the place, avoiding each other's eye, because Liam knows that Zayn's heart is beating about as loudly as his is. Even between the two of them, surveying the place, they still manage to get caught off guard when a boy with messy blond hair comes shuffling out of (seemingly) nowhere.

“Alright there?” He asks, when Liam nearly jumps, and Liam gives him a tentative smile, one that dies on his face when keen blue eyes zero in on Zayn. The boy – he's young, though not as young as Liam thought he was, when he was cloaked in shadow – steps towards him, actually moves to _circle_ him, like Zayn is some kind of animal at the zoo, or maybe prey, and Liam has to resist the urge to step in front of him, clears his throat instead.

“We uh-” He starts, and the boy looks at him now, smiles, easily.

“I know why you're here,” he says, gesturing towards Zayn. “You want to find out how to break the curse.”

Zayn is quiet, though he doesn't take his eyes off of him, even as the blond boy moves behind the counter. He shuffles closer to Liam, pressure almost painful on his fingers. Liam resists the urge to wrap an arm around him, calls for bravado he doesn't really feel right now. “How'd you know?” It isn't what he means to ask, but – how _does_ he know?

The boy begins rummaging through a drawer, shrugging a shoulder. “Could sense the magic in him when you walked through the door. He's _glowing_ with it, mate.”

(Liam sneaks a peek at Zayn, as though he's actually expecting him to have started resembling a star, or a bloody lamp, just by stepping over the threshold)

“I figured you'd come,” the other continues, and his smile has disappeared now. “What took you so long?”

Liam blinks. “Sorry?” He offers, gesturing nowhere in particular. “I didn't – I didn't know-”

He gets a snort in reply. “That's always the problem, innit?” The boy retrieves a leather bound book from the drawer, absently flipping through the pages. “You come in here, thinking it's a bloody _joke_ , looking for a love spell or a summoning charm, wanting to spice up your boring lives, and you don't _think_.” He gives him a sharp look, one that actually makes Liam avert his eyes, bite his lip.

“I didn't-” He starts, and the boy shakes his head.

“No,” he sighs, tapping the book when he's found what he's looking for. “ _You_ didn't. But _someone_ did. Someone came in here, got that book, and now you've got a problem on your hands and you want _me_ to fix it. How is it that people never take this shit seriously until it becomes a problem? And then they come here and they figure, hey, maybe Niall knows what to do.”

Liam bites his lip again. “I'm sorry,” he offers, and he knows it falls flat, though at least Niall has the decency to nod at him. “You're right,” he continues, and that gets a small smile, though Liam isn't sure how sincere it is. “this – it started as a joke. We didn't think it would actually work, but it did and now-”

“Now you want to break the curse so you can keep him,” Niall interrupts, and his eyes move to Zayn again, who has been awfully quiet throughout this whole conversation. “and –- what, exactly? Keep using him, fucking him, because one week isn't enough, you figure you can have your own personal Sex God for all eternity?”

Zayn makes a sound then, shifts, as though he wants to step forward, though he looks at Liam and stays put. “No,” he says, and Liam knows how hard it is, for him, to speak up at all. To have a conversation with someone that isn't him, someone that he hasn't known and can't predict like he's starting to learn how to with Liam. “He's not – he's not like that.”

Niall eyes him, critically. “Are you just saying that because he's making you?'

(Liam gets where he's coming from, he does. And if he weren't so irritated with the fact that _they're running out of time_ , he'd be thankful for this. For Niall. Who seems, if nothing else, to have Zayn's best interests at heart.)

“No,” Zayn repeats, ducks his head, and Liam smiles because he knows that Zayn is trying to hide his blush. “No, he's – Liam, he's-”

Liam squeezes his hand, gets rewarded with a small, private smile, one that's mirrored on his own face, before he looks back up at Niall, who is still eyeing the two of them as though he's trying to figure out whether or not Liam's making Zayn say any of this. “I love him,” he says, feeling like the wind's been knocked out of him when his words make Zayn look up, shocked and kind of in awe. “I know it's crazy, I know that it's only been a week but I love him. I love _you_. Zayn. I do.”

Niall makes a sound, as though he's gagging, but when Liam looks up, he looks oddly pleased. He's smiling, and Liam absently notes that it's a nice smile. Kind. It makes him feel like maybe he can trust him, even if Niall doesn't seem sold on him yet. Makes him hope that maybe Niall will _help_ them.

“Please,” he says, and he turns to the blond. “Is there – is there _any_ way?”

“Depends,” Niall answers, eyes briefly moving to their interlaced hands. “I hope so. I've been waiting for you, you know.” He smiles, wistfully. “This book has a habit of coming back to me.”

Liam feels Zayn tense next to him. “You – you're responsible for _selling_ me? For all the – that's _your_ doing?” He sounds .. angry isn't really the word, Liam thinks. Wounded, comes closer.

Niall, to his credit, has the decency to look guilty. “My nan used to own this shop. She told me about the curse, and the book, and how to break it. Yes, Zayn, I've been letting people buy the book, but you have to understand, it was the only way. The curse can't be broken until the right person ends up with the book. With _you_.”

Zayn deflates, and Liam wraps his arm around him after all, brushes his fingers through Zayn's hair as the other rests his head on his shoulder. He wonders if Niall's right. Wonders if this means this is fate after all. If Niall has ended up with the book, time and time again (does that mean there's a spell on it? Liam figures he'll ask him that, sometime later, maybe), if he's been working for this, working so the curse can be broken and Zayn can have a normal life -

“Why?” It's not Liam who speaks up, but Zayn, and he looks at Niall with a singleminded focus. “Why would you want to break the curse? Why would you care?”

Niall smiles again. “Why would I own a book store like this, if I didn't? It's what we do. Me and my fam. We break curses, deal with the supernatural. We have for centuries. Your story has been known in the Horan family for generations.”

“So _why_ , then? If you know? If you know what I've done – what makes you think I deserve to have this curse broken?”

Liam looks at Zayn, small and scared and vulnerable under his arm, then at Niall, who is still smiling, incredibly. “Do you love him?” Niall asks, gesturing towards Liam. “Liam. Do you love Liam?”

He's fidgeting again, and Liam's half convinced that he should probably remove his arm from around the other's shoulder, should back away before Zayn feels pressured to say something he doesn't mean. He opens his mouth to assure him that it's alright, that he doesn't need to -

“Yeah.” Zayn's voice is quiet, but he meets Niall's stare. “Yes.”

Niall grins, this time. “Well, then. That settles it, doesn't it? You're no longer that person, mate. The prince who hasn't loved anyone other than himself for a single day of his existence. He's the one that the enchantress decided deserved to get cursed, he's the one that was meant to learn a lesson. Seems like you have.” His eyes move to Liam. “You're the first to bring him here. Not the first to ask me for help, but the first to take Zayn with you. The first that might actually be successful.”

Liam swallows, heart torn between skipping beats and sinking at the other's less than confident wording. “Might be?”


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really struggled with this chapter, so I'm sorry for the wait <3 life did get really busy again too, but I also wasn't sure (and still don't feel sure) if I wanted to deviate from the original prompt or not.

He tries to keep his voice steady, winces slightly when it raises despite his best efforts, almost coming out as a shriek. “What – what do you mean, _might_ be?”

There _has_ to be a way to break the curse. Liam _has_ to be the person who manages. Not just the person that 'might be' successful. This is Zayn they're talking about. Zayn's future, his happiness, on the line. Might be isn't good enough. Not anymore.

Liam hears Zayn's soft exhale, sees, from his peripheral vision, the way he curls in on himself ever so slightly, as though he's trying to protect himself. “Zayn,” he says softly, taking his hands in his and rubbing them, because it seems to be the right thing to do, it's supposed to convey comfort, even when Liam's not feeling all that comforted himself. “it's okay. We'll fix this. I promised.”

Zayn looks up at him but doesn't smile. Niall clears his throat, and it sounds like he's trying to hold back on a snort – which is a good thing, because Liam might be tempted to throttle him if he snorted right now, if he could be that insensitive.

(He realizes, also, that throttling the one person that might be able to help is not a very sensible thing to do, but Niall's supposed to have Zayn's best interests at heart and laughing at them is not helping)

“Tell me more,” he says, never taking his eyes off of Zayn. He softens his voice though, when he realizes how authoritative he sounds. Doesn't want to piss off the one person that can fix this, or tell them what to do. “Please. Niall, if there's _any_ way-”

Niall sighs, looks from Zayn to Liam and back, then fixes his gaze on the way they're touching, the way Liam's curled around Zayn and how he's rubbing his hands, offering any comfort he can. “It depends,” he finally says, and he sounds almost cautious, perhaps a little apologetic. “have you – have you two, y'know, _y'know_?”

Liam stares at him, unblinking, but it's Zayn who catches on first. “You mean, have we fucked?” He blurts out, and Niall has the decency to look sheepish.

“Fucked, made love, shagged, whatever you want to call it, mate.” He shrugs a shoulder, gestures between them. “Looking at you, I'd say you'd use a term that's not quite so crass, but yes, the point stands. Have you?”

Liam blushes, twines his fingers with Zayn's. “No,” he says, and it feels wrong, talking about this, but he figures Niall's asking for a reason, is glad when the other's face brightens in response to his words, the sigh of relief not going unnoticed, though Liam just looks at him, unable to really relax until he finds out why it matters.

He has an idea, sure, knows, logically, that if Zayn was made to be a Sex God, the curse being broken might be more about sex than true love, about abstaining from it, maybe, but he is scared to believe in anything right now. Scared to get his hopes up before he _knows_.

“Good,” Niall says, and Liam wraps his arm around Zayn when the other sways on his feet a little, realizes that Zayn must be feeling the same nerves he is, if not worse. It makes him want to take Zayn somewhere private, talk to him for a while, reassure him that it's okay, that it will be okay, but he feels like he's said those things a thousand times and repeating them doesn't make them any more true. Instead he kisses his temple, squeezes him a little when Zayn gratefully leans into him, shoulder pressed against his chest. Zayn's eyes don't leave Niall's, either.

Niall smiles at them, nods when Zayn weakly prompts “Good?”

“Yeah,” he says, scrapes his throat and flushes a little, scratching at his neck. “I was hoping you'd say that. It's the only thing that'll break this kind of curse. See, the thing with curses is, it's not always about true love. True love's kiss is kind of like a bezoar, in the sense that it breaks most curses, just as a bezoar is an antidote against most poisons-”

(Zayn looks kind of lost, and Liam's wondering if there's truth to Harry Potter, if somehow, wizards do exist, and there's an entire world that he's never been aware of before the movies and the books. It doesn't seem so unlikely anymore, these days)

Niall notices that he's lost them both, stops himself mid-sentence and smiles. “Sorry. I guess you don't really care about the why and what, long as you know how to break the curse.” He makes a dismissive hand motion when Liam protests – feeling like it's the proper thing to do, though it lacks real conviction – and smiles at them again. “I get it. Trust me. I'm as excited about it as you are. Well, except for the fact that I won't be the one _breaking_ the curse, which is kind of a shame because that's what we _do_ , but I don't think I'm the one that's meant to break this curse.”

He looks at Zayn as though he's kind of disappointed, and Liam finds himself even closer to Zayn than before, startling a laugh from the blond male.

“Trust me mate, I don't mean it like that. Not that he's not awfully pretty and tempting, though I suppose that's kind of the rule when you're a Sex God, but he's not my type.” Liam understands even before Niall cups fake breasts in front of his chest, but the fact that he does it with such an exaggerated leer makes him grin, soft chuckle slipping from his lips. Niall's alright, he decides, and he knows that he's doing it on purpose, trying to relax them a little, even if it means making a fool of himself.

(He realizes he never would have met Niall, if it weren't for this whole ordeal, and while that's not half as terrifying as the idea of never having met Zayn, he finds that he's glad to have stumbled across him. He thinks Louis would like him, too.)

“So,” Zayn prompts, and Liam smiles at Niall, who looks sheepish again, drops his hands to wipe them on his jeans. Zayn's still on edge, Liam notes, and he resists the urge to squeeze his shoulder once more, though he does indulge himself and drops a kiss on top of his hair.

Niall clears his throat, drawing himself up to his maximum height, as though he's about to deliver a speech, declare something in a loud voice, with smoke bombs going off and perhaps a _simsalabim_ thrown in for good measure. One look at Zayn and he deflates, however, makes a slight face. “Right. Okay. It's easy, really. In theory, anyway. The curse was all about how you only care about sex, right? That's how you break it. _You_ break the curse, Zayn, by not sleeping with him.” Niall smiles at their faces. “At least, that's part of it. True love _does_ play a part, because the curse is only broken if you can abstain from sex with your true love. Can't have it be easy, now, can we?”

Liam disagrees, it still sounds easy. Too easy. He's been keeping his hands off Zayn for the entire week, it can't be that _that_ in itself is enough to have him stay. He's not sure if his incredulity shows on his face, though one look from Niall and the other is shaking his head, smiling. “You think it sounds too easy.” He suddenly colors a little again, starts rubbing the back of his neck like he did before. “There's no subtle way to say this, really. Do you know when Zayn arrived? If, by that time tonight, you have managed to prove your love for each other, well, by the time the clock strikes and your time together is up, if at that point, you are-”

(Liam never would have thought Niall could blush so much, or would stutter and gesture instead of saying the actual words)

“ _connected_ ” he ends up muttering through gritted teeth, and Liam almost laughs, holds it back because he doesn't want to embarrass Niall. “then the curse will be broken, if this is really true love.”

Liam stares at him for a moment. “So,” he says slowly, trying to make sure he understands. “not true love's kiss, but true love's _sex_?”

Zayn laughs, quiet, but it sounds a little forced, like he can't quite believe that this is real, that Niall's not a fake, giving them false hope.

“That's one way of saying it,” Niall nods, smiles when Liam can't help but shake his head in disbelief.

“I didn't think it'd be that simple,” he admits, his fingertips combing through Zayn's hair before he tucks his hand in the other's back pocket, not even thinking about it. Niall follows the movement with his eyes, and when he smiles, it's darkly.

“It never is.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Seeing as how this was originally a kinkmeme prompt, it requested sex, and I wasn't sure if having the solution for the curse revolve around sex would be detrimental to the story as I've told it so far. I hope that you guys won't be disappointed!


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sure you all are fed up with my apologies for being so slow. But I still want to say sorry. Fortunately, or not, depending on how much you like this story, the next chapter should be the last one I'll keep you waiting for!

They're quiet as they walk home, Zayn's hand clasped in his, and Liam would enjoy that under any other circumstance, but right now he's too worried. 

It shouldn't be like that. He knows that Niall's pretty much given them the solution, but still. It seems deceptively simple. Keep from being intimate with Zayn until right before the curse is broken, and then make love to him (because Niall's right about that, it wouldn't be fucking, not when this is supposedly true love). Curse is broken, they live happily ever after.

Right?

“Do you-” Zayn starts, but before Liam can even establish eye contact, he shakes his head and glances away. It takes a heartbeat or two before he looks back, to find Liam still watching him, patiently, as they wait for the light to turn so they can cross the street.

(He's reminded of Zayn's fear of cars, how that was only a few days ago, and how he seems to fit so seamlessly in his life)

Despite the occasional glance in his direction, Zayn keeps quiet until they're back in the apartment, until he's on Liam's bed with a pillow in his lap, fingers tugging at the threading. “Do you think we can trust him?”

Liam exhales, runs his fingers through his hair and sits down next to him. “I don't know,” he admits, thinks back on the dark look in Niall's eyes when he promised him it wouldn't be simple. He _wants_ to trust him, knows full well that he's the only person who's even given them an option, a way to fix this. “Do we have much of a choice?”

Zayn shrugs his shoulder.

“I mean,” Liam chews on his lip for a moment. “Either we have sex, or we don't. If it didn't matter, if the whole thing wasn't about abstaining from sex, then why wouldn't the curse have been broken before now?”

“Because of true love,” Zayn murmurs softly, and Liam's pleased to find he's gone a particularly adorable shade of red. “All the others, they weren't..” He makes a dismissive motion, then glances up. “They weren't you,” he says.

Flattered as he feels by that, Liam's also a bit worried. Because _true love_ –- no pressure, then. And the thing is, they won't _know_. Not until the chance to _do_ something has passed, because all they can do is take a leap of faith and wait it out.

“So we'll go for it. We'll keep our hands off each other, we've been doing that all week.” Liam says, watching his fingers stroke over Zayn's arm. “It's only a few more hours anyway, how hard can it be?” He's relieved to note that Zayn's smiling when he looks at him, though he aims for a slight scowl too, as though he's pretending to be insulted by his words. “You know what I mean,” he adds, softer. “And anyway, it doesn't matter, how hard it gets. Because it'll be worth it.”

That, at least, is something he doesn't have to question. Neither does Zayn, because his nod is instantaneous. It leaves him smiling at the smaller male, their hands clasped together once more.

 

Liam's fully prepared to make Zayn's last day –- in case it really _is_ his last day, not that he wants to consciously process that –- memorable, and he's had things planned since the very first morning. He figured they could go for a drive, first, maybe find some nice, quaint country lanes to drive over, or a nature trail to follow if the weather's nice enough to walk. Dinner afterwards, and maybe a movie, because even if Zayn is still not entirely convinced that everything onscreen isn't a hundred percent real, Liam can't possibly have it on his conscience that Zayn might leave without ever having been to the cinema.

But Zayn doesn't want to leave the apartment. Whenever Liam tries, he shakes his head before he's even fully verbalized his suggestion. He gives up eventually, just curls himself around Zayn and wraps his arms around him. “I thought you'd want to enjoy your day,” he murmurs against his shoulder, and Zayn gives a small twitch before he covers the hand Liam's splayed over his stomach.

“Want to be with _you_ ,” he whispers back in answer, his voice sounding hoarse. “I don't know what will happen, I don't want to waste my time outside, where I can't be holding you like this.” Liam glances over to see that his eyes are closed, though his lashes tremble against his cheek, wetness clumping them together.

He tries to soothe him by stroking his thumb over his shirt-covered abdomen, feels Zayn shiver underneath his touch, melting into him. “Whatever happens,” he starts, has to clear his throat when his voice sounds scratchy, “I love you.”

Zayn squirms around in his arms until he's face to face with Liam, his fingertips brushing over his jaw, his cheekbone, up the ridge of his nose and all the way over the curve of his eyebrow. They linger at his temple, touch so faint he almost thinks he's imagining the heat. “I love you too,” he whispers, and it's like something in Liam cracks open, because he _knows_ that. He knew that, even before Zayn said it, but to hear it, to hear him _say_ –-

“I love you,” he repeats, and then he's surging forward, claiming Zayn's lips in a kiss.

 

They're halfway out of their clothes before Zayn pulls back, gasps when Liam bites down on his neck, works at his skin to form a lovely, dark bruise. “Stop,” he breathes out, laughs when Liam only kind of growls in response, tries to draw him back in. “Li-” It's a whine, protest for protests' sake, Liam knows that, knows that if he keeps working his teeth and his tongue over that blemish, Zayn will give in. “Li, the _curse_ ,” Zayn tries again, and Liam lets go as though he's been stung.

Of course.

The curse.

The we-can't-have-sex-until-the-very-hour-before-you're-disappearing-or-we-won't-break-the-curse curse.

Which he knows about.

“Oops,” he mutters, color flooding his cheeks, and he's glad to see that Zayn is smiling instead of angry. “I um, got a little carried away?” He lets his eyes roam, lets Zayn see how they've darkened, the resulting shiver making him grin a little. “It's not hard to, when you look like that,” he murmurs, and he's half a second from pulling him back in when Zayn rests a hand against his chest, keeps him from closing the distance.

“You better stop that, before you make me lose my mind,” Zayn laughs, kisses the pout off Liam's face before it has a chance to fully form. “Before I can't say no anymore.”

Liam frowns. “You can always say no.”

At that, Zayn rolls his eyes and lightly ruffles his hair. “I know that. I know all about your manners and how important consent is to you, trust me, I've heard that lecture plenty of times this past week,” he teases, and it's the tone of his voice that makes Liam relax, even if he still scowls at him like the petulant child he sometimes is. “I'm just saying –- it's hard enough to resist you as is, never mind when you're kissing me so I can't even _think_.”

(He should not be thrilled at having this effect on Zayn)

Liam sighs and pushes himself up on his elbow. “Do you –- we can watch a movie?”

(He's not at all disappointed when Zayn says yes)


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had hoped to have this final chapter up before I went on holiday, but unfortunately I didn't manage. So it's been a lot longer a wait than I had wanted, but I've finally managed to write what I hope will be a satisfying end to the story for everyone!

They watch movies. Plural. 

Though, it's not so much _watching_ them, as it is movies playing in the background, their own voices creating a soundtrack for whatever's going on onscreen.

And it's not so much their voices as it is their _sounds_ , because they soon give up talking in favor of other things, and Liam can't help but delight in every sound he manages to coax from Zayn. In the little sighs and the moans, and the whispers of “Li, Li, Li,” that are like a steady chant falling from his lips.

The groans, when he slots their hips together and _grinds_.

He's not stupid. He knows he should stop. He knows that this is dangerous, that there's still rules, that he can't do this right now when there's hours yet, to the time Zayn's threatening to disappear, but it's so hard to think about all of that when Zayn is warm and willing and responsive and there's these miles of caramel skin that he's finally allowed to touch.

He rests his forehead against Zayn's collarbone, groaning. “What's wrong with me?” He asks, and Zayn laughs, fingers drifting through Liam's hair. It should be relaxing but it's not, not with this thrumming in his veins, this undercurrent of _wantandneed_ that he can't shake.

“We can't do this,” Zayn murmurs, but he doesn't sound like he's really saying no, Liam registers.

Logically, he knows that he's right. That they _can't_ do this. That they're too close to fuck this up, that there's no reason they can't wait a few more hours, until they _can_.

Until it's the hour before Zayn's set to disappear, because once that clock strikes, once he's less than an hour from being alone, that's when they have to prove it's true love. And it doesn't make sense to screw that up, not when there's guaranteed sex in the near foreseeable future (and Liam feels bad about that, really, because they are supposed to have a choice, they should be able to take it slow –- never mind that Zayn's body under his seems to scream that he doesn't _want_ to take it slow).

“I know,” he answers, dips his head to kiss at Zayn's neck, feels more than hears his shivery exhale. “It's weird,” he says to the soft skin at his jugular, lips brushing over tendons and bones and soft, goose-bumped skin. “I _know_ , but it feels like I can't stop.”

Zayn hums something in agreement, fingers tangled in Liam's hair, thumb brushing through the soft hair at the nape of his neck. “Me either,” he whispers, presses himself closer to those little butterfly kisses that Liam's leaving down his chest.

(Where'd Zayn's shirt go? Liam's pretty certain they put it back on, at some point. And for that matter, where have his own pants gone?

This is insane.

But he can figure it out later. Clothes don't just disappear. There's no magic that makes-)

Liam jerks, pushes away when his entire body screams to be _closer_ \- “It's the curse,” he says, swallowing when Zayn tries to bring him back in, shakes his head and gently pushes him back onto the sheets. He watches him, reminded of the first morning, of how wanton and willing Zayn was, how he didn't have a choice back then, either.

“It's – Zayn, this-” He babbles, runs his fingers through his hair and backs off, actually off the bed kind of off. “You don't really want this.”

Zayn scowls, there's no other word for it, and the look in his eyes is a different kind of heated now. “Don't start that again,” he warns, but the way he covers himself (so _there_ was his shirt) only reaffirms Liam's belief.

(He doesn't feel disappointed. He doesn't.)

“No,” he shakes his head again, wants to reach out but doesn't trust himself. “That's not – you just said it, yourself. You feel like you can't stop. That's –- it's not been like that, other times, has it?” He looks at him now, watches him worry his lip with his teeth. “I'm not saying you don't want _me_ , Zayn, I know you do. At least, I hope that you do. I hope that this isn't just some fucked up side effect of the curse, and that you don't really care for me and that by the time this is all over, you're going to regret ever meeting me-”

“It's not,” Zayn snaps, and he's glaring now. Pushed up on his hands, he stares at Liam. “How can you think that? How can you think that this means nothing to me?”

“I know, I know, okay, it's not, I'm not thinking that, I know that this means something to you. I know that you'll be free, afterwards, and that –- I know what that means to you,” Liam tries to assure him, but all his words do is make Zayn cringe, curl in on himself as though Liam's hit him. He needs a moment, quiet giving him the chance to sift through the words he's just said, and he cringes too, at silently repeating them back to himself. “Zayn,” he tries, but Zayn shakes his head.

“It doesn't mean anything,” Zayn whispers, and Liam's pretty sure his words are breaking his heart apart, piece by piece. He nods, numbly, about to force out some lie about how it's okay, how he's promised Zayn that he'd never keep him here, against his will, how all of that's still true now. “It doesn't mean anything without _you_ , Liam. _God_. How can you not know that?”

Liam looks up to find Zayn close, close enough to count his eyelashes, that frame sad looking hazel eyes. He wants to shake his head, but Zayn cups his face in his hands, frames it with splayed out fingers that are too tender for the anger he's just heard in his voice. Liam lifts a shaky hand to cover the one cupping his cheek, finds himself unable to say the 'sorry' that is evident in the way he looks at him, the way he brushes his fingers over Zayn's.

“I don't want to be free if that means I'm not with you, Li,” Zayn continues, and he seems a little calmer now that Liam's not pushing him away or arguing with him. “I want this. I want _you_. I've wanted you since the moment you refused to take advantage of me.” He slides in his lap, and Liam automatically shifts to adapt to the added weight, wraps one arm around his waist to keep him from falling out of the arm chair he'd settled into. “No matter how hard I tried.” Zayn adds, hint of a smile on his face. “You're a good man, Liam Payne. You treat me like I'm a person, not an object. You take care of me, and you think of my needs too, not just your own.” He toys with a curl, brushes his lips over Liam's nose, his jaw. “A bit too much, sometimes,” he murmurs and Liam finds himself joining in with that soft laugh.

His fingers tighten around Zayn's waist. “I'm sorry,” he says quietly, shushes Zayn when he tries to object. “I just –- I don't want to hurt you. I don't want to do anything you don't want to do, and when you said that it feels like you can't stop –- how is it any less wrong than if I'd taken advantage of you at the start of this week?” He sounds unhappy still, but even Zayn has to admit he has a point, Liam thinks, and the huffed out breath against his cheek tells him that the other understands his concerns, at least.

“Liam,” Zayn starts, slowly, and uhoh, he's in trouble now. “Do you want me?”

He snorts. “I'd like to think that was obvious,” he grumbles, because even now, he's half hard just from having Zayn in his lap.

“Would you want me if there was no curse?” Zayn continues, then shakes his head, resting a finger against Liam's lips. “No. Wait. Wrong question. Did you want me _before_ it started feeling like you couldn't stop touching me?”

Liam nips at his fingertip. “You know I did.”

“Every time I tried something, you rejected me,” Zayn counters softly, and Liam sighs at him, not really as exasperated as it sounds.

“I had to. You know why I had to.”

Zayn nods. “Because you don't want to take advantage of me. Because you wanted to give me a chance to make up my own mind. Not just do this because I had to, or because you wanted it.” He smiles, flicking Liam's ear with his finger, and it kind of hurts but it kind of doesn't, but Liam still makes a face.

“I don't see what you're trying to say though,” he admits, feeling a little dumb, especially when Zayn laughs again, though the way he does it –- all delighted, like Liam's said something funny or endearing –- keeps him from feeling too bad.

“I'm not touching you because the curse makes me want to, Li,” Zayn murmurs, looking at Liam with so much affection that Liam's temporarily unable to breathe. He doesn't think the way Zayn keeps leaving little butterfly kisses on his lips is helping any. “The curse makes it harder to stop and think about why this is a bad idea.”

“Which is why-” Liam starts, but Zayn shushes him.

“But we're not doing anything now. So I'm still of sound mind, and I'm guessing you are too, as much as you ever are,” (“Hey!”) Zayn adds, laughing softly again. “So I'm telling you now, Li, I want this. I'm going to want it after the curse is broken, too. And I'll want it, hours from now, when we finally can, and I'm just saying this now, because if you bring this up again later –- if you tell me then that we don't need to, that you don't want to hurt me, I swear to God, I am going to kick your _ass_ if your chivalry ruins our one chance to break the curse.”

Liam makes another face. “You wouldn't be there to,” he says.

Zayn rolls his eyes and lightly smacks his chest. “Shut up.”

Liam does.

 

There's three more near misses before all the alarm clocks Liam's ever owned in his life go off.

(“Just in case we're going to end up falling asleep,” Liam had said, while they were tangled on the bed together. Zayn had arched an eyebrow and looked, rather pointedly, at Liam's fingers, brushing over the soft skin just underneath the waistband of Zayn's boxers.)

There's a moment of silence, of charged energy, of _are we doing this_ and _are you sure_ and _do you really want to_ –- it ends when Zayn rolls his eyes, smacks rather than pats the bed in invitation, and teases, “Get on this, then, cowboy.”

Liam laughs and kisses him and tells him he's got to stop letting him watch so much TV, bites at his neck and murmurs that Zayn's an idiot, and he's going to regret this, and Zayn laughs and wraps himself around him and whispers that he's _his_ idiot and yeah –

it's easy, from there on out.

 

Surprisingly easy.

Deceptively easy, Liam realizes with a drop of his stomach, when he wakes up alone.

What was it Niall said? It's never that simple?

He should have listened. He should have –- Niall was warning him, Liam realizes it now, Niall was trying to help him but he didn't listen, and now it's –- it's too late.

It's too late and _Zayn_. Zayn is gone. Zayn is –- he's back in his book, and oh God, Liam's never going to be able to find him again.

The book.

Liam scrambles out of bed, not giving a single thought to modesty (or, as it stands, common sense, that indicates turning his entire room upside down is perhaps not the safest thing to do whilst naked) as he searches the room, frantically trying to find the book because maybe if he does, he can get Louis to summon Zayn, and they can have another go at this, or maybe he can bring it back to Niall and Niall can beat him over the head with it because _he gave him clear instructions and Liam's still managed to mess it up_.

(Story of his life, really.)

He's on the floor, sandwiched between the rug and his bed, only his legs still free, wondering if he's going to get stuck before he's reached the dark shape that's found its way just out of reach, when –-

“Liam?”

He bangs his head and scrapes his arm. The dark shape turns out to be a pizza box. It doesn't matter. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp. That's the end, folks! Apparently not so porny after all, so I hope none of you are disappointed! Thank all of you ever so much for reading and commenting and shaping this story as it was <3 I know I've not been the most reliable when it comes to updating, but I do hope you enjoyed the story and will be reading more of my work :) I love all of you!


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